" Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Wood, who maintained stoutly, that if Thames had been led to do wrong, it must be through the instrumentality of his worthless companion. Not MY affair. And after that Alice became remoter than ever, and, after a time, ill. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. I must know what new thing has come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and a monster the next. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. The settlements which he has spoken of, too, are most munificent.
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