But he was wide awake. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. “My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you.
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