"What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. “What? She replied, still hazy. Carefully sustaining the child which, even in that terrible extremity, he had not the heart to abandon, he fell upon his knees, and, guiding himself with his right hand, crept slowly on. “We don’t pretend.
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