Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Finding remonstrances of no avail, he had recourse to threats; and when threats failed, he adopted more decided measures. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it.
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