But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. “But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help. Maybe others that I do not know about. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection.
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