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You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. In a sense I don’t care. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over.
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