The starling, on which the carpenter stood, was the fourth from the Surrey shore. "What can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child," rejoined Mrs. Michelle seemed so innocent and sweet. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast.
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