She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. Let us be gone. In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch House. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life. She disengaged her hands and stood up.
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