Netta Melrose grasped the nurse's arm, and spoke in wailing Italian, as
she held an umbrella over the child.

"What a place, Anastasia!--what a place! It looks like a prison! I shall
die here--I know I shall!"

Her terrified gaze swept over the old red sandstone house rising dark and
grim against the storm, and over the tangled thickets of garden dank with
rain.

But the next moment she was seized by the strong hands of Mrs. Dixon and
Thyrza, who half led, half carried, her into the hall of the Tower, while
Dixon and young Tyson did the same for the nurse and baby.

* * * * *

"A very interesting old place, built by some man with a real fine taste!
As far as I can see, it will hold my collections very well."

The new owner of Threlfall Tower was standing in the drawing-room with
his back to the fire, alternately looking about him with an eager
curiosity, and rubbing his hands in what appeared to be satisfaction. The
agent surveyed him.

Edmund Melrose at that moment--some thirty years ago--was a tall and
remarkably handsome man of fifty, with fine aquiline features deeply
grooved and cut, a delicate nostril, and a domed forehead over which fell
thick locks of black hair. He looked what he was--a man of wealth and
family, spoilt by long years of wandering and irresponsible living,