The single chair stood by the window, and there the old man must have sat since he left them.

There was no book, no paper, no means by which he could have amused himself, nothing but a razor-strop lying on the window-sill.
A feeling of impending misfortune struck cold to Robert's heart.

There was some ill-meaning in this journey of his father's.

He thought of his brooding of yesterday, his scowling face, his bitter threats.

Yes, there was some mischief underlying it.