hat there is something dark at work here, Tom. I will tell
you why, at another time; when I have made an inquiry or two myself.'

All this sounded very mysterious to Tom Pinch. But as he knew he could
rely upon his friend, he resolved to follow this advice.

Ah, but it would have been a good thing to have had a coat of
invisibility, wherein to have watched little Ruth, when she was left
to herself in John Westlock's chambers, and John and her brother were
talking thus, over their wine! The gentle way in which she tried to get
up a little conversation with the fiery-faced matron in the crunched
bonnet, who was waiting to attend her; after making a desperate rally
in regard of her dress, and attiring herself in a washed-out yellow gown
with sprigs of the same upon it, so that it looked like a tesselated
work of pats of butter. That would have been pleasant. The grim and
griffin-like inflexibility with which the fiery-faced matron repelled
these engaging advances, as proceeding from a hostile and dangerous
power, who could have no business there, unless it were to deprive her
of a customer, or suggest what became of the self-consuming tea and
sugar, and other general trifles. That would have been agreeable. The
bashful, winning, glorious curiosity, with which little Ruth, when
fiery-face was gone, peeped into the books and nick-nacks that
were lying about, and had a particular interest in some delicate
paper-matches on the chimney-piece; wondering who could have made them.
That would have been worth seeing. The faltering hand with which she
tied those flowers together; with which, almost blushing at her own
fair self as imaged in the glass, she arranged them in her breast, and
looking at them with her head aside, now half resolved to take them out
again, now half resolved to leave them where they were. That would have
been delightful!

John seemed to think it all delightful; for coming in with Tom to
tea, he took his seat beside her like a man enchanted. And when the
tea-service had been removed, and Tom, sitting down at the piano, became
absorbed in some of his old organ tunes, he was still beside her at the
open window, looking out upon the twilight.

There is little enough to see in Furnival's Inn. It is a shady, quiet
place, echoing to the footsteps of the stragglers who have business
there; and rather monotonous and gloomy on summer evenings. What gave it
such a charm to them, that they remained at the window as un