’ Kimble chewed his lip, but his hostility was visibly lessening. She wished she had not stood up. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. For me that is all over and done with. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault.
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