The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. I couldn’t sit down for a week!” “Oh, how terrible for you. "Don't ask me about it now. 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. You have darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style of dress. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed.
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