It depresses one, you know. "But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. It'll be in your way. But days had now passed. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. "That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her. "I will have it now," rejoined Trenchard, "or our agreement is void. I am having them to my own soirée on Monday. "No, Sir Rowland," replied the attendant, "as you proposed to ride to Saint Albans to-night, I thought you might choose to see him yourself. He had him removed from the Condemned Hold, stripped of his fine apparel, clothed in the most sordid rags, loaded with additional fetters, and thrust into the Stone Hold,—already described as the most noisome cell in the whole prison. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared.
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