Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. He turned the water off and handed her a towel. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace.
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