" Mrs. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. We will beg our bread and our shelter, and our passage on a boat. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. What can she have done to deserve such a fate? Oh!” They both turned round at Anna’s exclamation. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. "No, no, Sir," replied Ireton. "What's the matter?" he cried. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view.
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