” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated. “DEAR MR. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. ‘So it was. . ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. The coachman answered by a surly grunt, and, plying his whip with redoubled zeal, shaped his course down Dyot Street; traversed that part of Holborn, which is now called Broad Street, and where two ancient alms-houses were, then, standing in the middle of that great thoroughfare, exactly opposite the opening of Compston Street; and, diving under a wide gateway on the left, soon reached a more open space, surrounded by mean habitations, coach-houses and stables, called Kendrick Yard, at the further end of which Saint Giles's round-house was situated. I am not sure, but I believe that he has just thought of something. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. She was the High Priestess. “I think,” he said, “that some one ought to warn her. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. We shall have Mr. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with.
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