He felt listless, spiritless--an apathy with fright trembling somewhere at the back of it.

He regarded the verandah wall with foreboding.

How on earth could he climb that?
And if he did there would be his exposed hinder-parts inviting a shot from some malevolent gentleman among the trees.

He reflected that he would give a large sum of money to be out of this preposterous adventure.
Heritage's hand was stretched towards him, containing two of Mrs.
Morran's jellied scones, of which the Poet had been wise enough to bring a supply in his pocket.

The food cheered him, for he was growing very hungry, and he began to take an interest in the scene before him instead of his own thoughts.