When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. And when she learned that she had been doubly cheated, what then? His thoughts began to fall on her side of the scales, and his own misery grew lighter as he anticipated hers. They buried him in Willesden churchyard after the robbery. Lucy stepped inside. Her spirit awoke in dismay to an affection in ruins, to the immense undignified disaster that had come to them.
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