She shot a sudden glance at him. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. Like the Castle, which it resembled in all respects except that it was destitute even of a barrack-bedstead, the Red Room was reserved for state-prisoners, and had not been occupied since the year 1716, when the jail, as has before been mentioned, was crowded by the Preston rebels. Her back arched slightly in response. He walked unsteadily towards the door. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. She felt she had to go on.
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