If the baronet had given two or three blazing dinners in the great hall he would have deceived people generally, as he did his relatives and intimates.

He was too sick for that: fit only for passive acting.
The nursemaid waking in the night beheld a solitary figure darkening a lamp above her little sleeping charge, and became so used to the sight as never to wake with a start.

One night she was strangely aroused by a sound of sobbing.

The baronet stood beside the cot in his long black cloak and travelling cap.

His fingers shaded a lamp, and reddened against the fitful darkness that ever and anon went leaping up the wall.
She could hardly believe her senses to see the austere gentleman, dead silent, dropping tear upon tear before her eyes.