Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. Taking his new purchase under his arm, Jack proceeded to a small tavern in the same street, where, having ordered dinner, he went to a bed-room to attire himself. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. .
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