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He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. His name was Sebastianus. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. "I heard his voice; but I saw them on the stairs, and durst not approach him, for fear of giving the alarm. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly.
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