Howbeit, they come at last into the hall, where a lamp is burning, and so into Mr. Tulkinghorn’s usual room—the room where he drank his old wine tonight. He is not there, but his two old-fashioned candlesticks are, and the room is tolerably light.
Mr. Bucket, still having his professional hold of Jo and appearing to Mr. Snagsby to possess an unlimited number of eyes, makes a little way into this room, when Jo starts and stops.
“What’s the matter?” says Bucket in a whisper.
“There she is!” cries Jo.
“Who!”
“The lady!”
A female figure, closely veiled, stands in the middle of the room, where the light falls upon it. It is quite still and silent. The front of the figure is towards them, but it takes no notice of their entrance and remains like a statue.
“Now, tell me,” says Bucket aloud, “how you know that to be the lady.”
“I know the wale,” replies Jo, staring, “and the bonnet, and the gownd.”
“Be quite sure of what you say, Tough,” returns Bucket, narrowly observant of him. “Look again.”
“I am a-looking as hard as ever I can look,” says Jo with starting eyes, “and that there’s the wale, the bonnet, and the gownd.”
“What about those rings you told me of?” asks Bucket.
“A-sparkling all over here,” says Jo, rubbing the fingers of his left hand on the knuckles of his right without taking his eyes from the figure.