The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. I meant mischief. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. ‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall.
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