CHAPTER XXIII. Expiation. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. There was a gallows erected, and a great mob round it—thousands of people, and all with white faces like corpses. I want to enrich it with hangings and gladden it with verses. Them young prigs is all alike.
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