“What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. Wood, "it may be poisoned. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. That is all I ask. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. ’ He saw that Mrs Sindlesham, for all her vaunted freedom of speech, was honestly shocked by this revelation.
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