But now I think I shall turn in.

I want to have my eye rested, and be as fit as a fiddle for the shoot.

I have had a tiring week." And Francis Markrute came out with him into the passage and up to the first floor, and when they got so far they heard the notes of the _Chanson Triste_ being played again from Zara's sitting-room.

She had not gone to bed, then, it seemed! "Good God!" said Tristram.

"I don't know why, but I wish to heaven she would not play that tune." And the two men looked at one another with some uneasy wonder in their eyes.
"Go on and take her to bed," the financier suggested.