The room seemed strangely quiet after the stormy interview in the sick-chamber which we had just left.

The pale winter sunlight was stealing in aslant through the low windows.

The fire had sunk to a deep red glow, and in an arm-chair drawn up in front of it, newspaper in hand, was Carr, evidently fast asleep.
"'Oh, my prophetic soul!'" whispered Charles, nudging Marston; and then he went forward and shouted "Luncheon!" in a voice that would have waked the dead.
Carr started up and rubbed his eyes.
"Why, I believe you have been here ever since I left you here, hours ago," said Charles, in a surprised tone, though really, under the circumstances, it did not require a great stretch of the imagination to suppose any such thing.
"Yes," said Carr, still rubbing his eyes.

"Have you been gone long?
I expect I fell asleep." "I rather thought you were inclined for a nap when I left you," replied Charles, airily; "and now let us go to luncheon." It was a very dismal meal.

Lady Mary did not come down to it, and Aurelia sat with red eyes, tearful and silent.