“Please let me drive you home. "Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. “Okay, I guess. " "You'll do a national service, then," said Hogarth. It's of no use. ” “I feel so guilty. CHAPTER XXIII.
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