She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. ’ It was the Press who forced the identity upon me.
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