’ ‘A pretty tale. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. ’ She waved towards a handy table to one side which was piled high with so many volumes, it looked in imminent danger of crashing to the floor. CHAPTER XI. ” He seemed bored. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. It was red and chapped. "So, you're admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland," he remarked, with a sinister smile; "it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,—ha! ha! This skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, "once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. I don't know what you have done; I don't want to know now.
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