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. “If he is not here now I can make myself safe. Then there was also the horse. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. It comforts him when he is most forlorn. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. The day is already half over. I didn’t know that you had it that bad,” said John. ‘Tell me, my boy. But oh, how weary I am! I know.
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