"No, Sir Rowland," replied the attendant, "as you proposed to ride to Saint Albans to-night, I thought you might choose to see him yourself. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. “Will he die?” she asked. He remained listening attentively. 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. He had, however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these. . She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing.
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