Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. On regaining his breath, he began to consider whither chance had led him; and, rubbing his eyes to clear his sight, he perceived a sombre pile, with a lofty tower and broad roof, immediately in front of him. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. "I have not told you half. This whole affair is truly my fault.
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