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She held up the lamp. Not then. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. "So I will," rejoined Shotbolt; "so I will. I shall not part with you again. One she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive unmoved.
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