Wood's astonishment and displeasure momentarily increased. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, by the by. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. "Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live.
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