Indeed I must. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. Their small talk continued. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. "There'll be a louder echo here presently," thought Jonathan. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off.
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