A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. ” Anna looked at them for a moment with a pitiful attempt at a smile. Stones and brickbats were showered on all sides, and Mr. Nigel Ennison was he. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. "And the will?" he said, with forced calmness. “Has he accused any one yet?” “Not yet,” he answered.
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