‘Bête,’ she flung at him. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. And all to find that picture of Mary Remenham. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. . She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. Over the gateway towards Snow Hill, were two strong wards, called the Castle and the Red Room. That dress! Only a man—and an unworldly one—would have permitted you to proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out of date. Spurling.
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