"What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. “Never heard anything of it. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. Either that or some other person also obtained admission here and shot him, and that person is either still upon the premises or escaped without your notice. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. "I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. They must have a key. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. I waited for them to get right out of the grounds.
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