But she found an unknown lady’s discarded garments, and selected some of those that she tried on, sending Kimble off down the secret passage to load them onto the horse she had borrowed—unbeknownst to its owner—from Father Saint-Simon. 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. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. " "Decidedly so," replied Edgeworth Bess; "and I'll take this opportunity, while Jack's back is turned,—for he's grown so strangely particular,—of easing him of his snuff-box. After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork.
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