At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. I have worn it for weeks and weeks. There must be something we can do. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair.
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