Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. She had often wondered if Hoddy would ever go back to it. “There’s no end of things I’d like to talk over with you. It would not be wise to ever see your family again if you do not wish them to come to harm. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable.
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