A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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