"I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. Wood set off at full speed from the Mint, and, hurrying he scarce knew whither (for there was such a continual buzzing in his ears and dancing in his eyes, as almost to take away the power of reflection), he held on at a brisk pace till his strength completely failed him. "By the avenger of his family's dishonour—by your brother," he replied, coolly. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries.
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