But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. “But your sister,” he said. “Nothing has happened to Mr. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. I almost wish we hadn't come. Then he turned with a fierce movement to take her into his arms. " "Oh! do not say so," replied his wretched parent. “Well,” she admitted.
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