He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. “How is that carmine working?” he asked, with a forced interest. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. I took the money myself, and ought to know.
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