There was a table, two chairs, a painted plaster statue of a gray-bearded man in black standing on a small bracket with a crook in his hand; a pious book, much thumb-marked, lay face downwards on the table beside the oil lamp.

There was another door through which the monk had disappeared, and that was absolutely all.

There was no carpet and no curtains, but a bright little coal fire burned on the hearth, and two windows looked, one up the drive down which Frank had come, and the other into some sort of courtyard on the opposite side.
About ten minutes passed away without anything at all happening.

Frank heard more than one gust of rain-laden wind dash against the little barred window to the south, and he wondered how his friends were getting on.

The Major, at any rate, he knew, would manage to keep himself tolerably dry.