Sir Rowland Blake! The name was a very goad to his passion and despair.
He rose from the table and took a turn in the room, moving noiselessly in his stockinged feet.

He felt the need of air and action; the weariness of his flesh incurred in his long ride from London was cast off or forgotten.

He must go forth.

He picked up his fine shoes of Spanish leather, but as luck would have it--little though he guessed the extent just then--he found them hardening, though still damp from the dews of Mr.Newlington's garden.

He cast them aside, and, taking a key from his pocket, unlocked an oak cupboard and withdrew the heavy muddy boots in which he had ridden from town.