But the Duke was reputed a miserly patron, and at the thought Mr.Lovel's eyes overflowed.

There was that damned bird again, wailing like a lost soul.

The eeriness of it struck a chill to his heart, so that if he had been able to think of any refuge he would have set spurs to his horse and galloped for it in blind terror.

He was in the mood in which men compose poetry, for he felt himself a midget in the grip of immensities.

He knew no poetry, save a few tavern songs; but in his youth he had had the Scriptures drubbed into him.