Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. Do you hear me? Do you hear what I am saying?.
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