what money would be drawn out of tellson's henceforth, and what would lie there, lost and forgotten; what plate and jewels would tarnish in tellson's hiding-places, while the depositors rusted in prisons, and when they should have violently perished; how many accounts with tellson's never to be balanced in this world, must be carried over into the next; no man could have said, that night, any more than mr. jarvis lorry could, though he thought heavily of these questions. he sat by a newly-lighted wood fire (the blighted and unfruitful year was prematurely cold), and on his honest and courageous face there was a deeper shade than the pendent lamp could throw, or any object in the room distortedly reflect a shade of horror.