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. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. "I had no hand in the affair," replied Jackson, bluntly; "but I know those who had; and could bring forward evidence, if you require it. . “I do hope you will be able to do this, because I value men friends.
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