You may lend me your candle.

My dear girl, Mrs.Wragge's boudoir is on the first floor; Mrs.Wragge is visible.

Allow me to show you the way up." As he ascended the stairs first, the care-worn widow whispered, piteously, to Magdalen, "I hope you'll pay me, miss.

Your uncle doesn't." The captain threw open the door of the front room on the first floor, and disclosed a female figure, arrayed in a gown of tarnished amber-colored satin, seated solitary on a small chair, with dingy old gloves on its hands, with a tattered old book on its knees, and with one little bedroom candle by its side.

The figure terminated at its upper extremity in a large, smooth, white round face--like a moon--encircled by a cap and green ribbons, and dimly irradiated by eyes of mild and faded blue, which looked straightforward into vacancy, and took not the smallest notice of Magdalen's appearance, on the opening of the door.
"Mrs.Wragge!" cried the captain, shouting at her as if she was fast asleep.