4. Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. “What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. He built her the most beautiful castle 242 in the world in the desert, carving fountains where real water ran and gardens in a place where no plant had ever bloomed. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut.
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