Wrapping it round him, and throwing down his hat, he took the lamp and went up stairs.
Daring as he was, Parravicin felt his courage desert him, as having found the door of Mrs.Disbrowe's chamber, he cautiously opened it.

A single glance showed him that the room was more exquisitely, more luxuriously furnished than that he had just quitted.

Articles of feminine attire, of the richest kind, were hung against the walls, or disposed on the chairs.

On one side stood the toilette-table, with its small mirror then in vogue, and all its equipage of silver flasks, filligree cassets, japan patch-boxes, scent-bottles, and pomatum-pots.
As he entered the room, a faint voice issuing from behind the rich damask curtains of the bed, demanded, "Is it you, Disbrowe ?" "It is, Margaret," replied Parravicin, setting down the lamp, and speaking with a handkerchief at his mouth, to disguise his voice and conceal his features.
"You are late--very late," she rejoined, "and I have been ill.

I fancied myself dying." "What has been the matter with you sweet, Meg ?" asked Parravicin, approaching the bed, and seating himself behind the curtains.
"I know not," she replied.