He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. "Do you know anything further of Sir Rowland?" he asked. ” “It is hard to be distant from your own mother. ‘But with more courage in her little finger than in many another female’s entire body. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection.
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