" Sir Rowland looked at her for a moment, as if he meditated some terrible reply. The young man opposite was straining his ears to listen to their conversation. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. The faithful fellow will never leave me. "I am innocent.
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