“So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. “It’s as broad as life,” said Mr. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. ‘Ask him. Then pain entered their depths.
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