Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. “Forgive me,” he said. This spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. I'll knock off at tea.
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