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The faded and worn furniture was all there; the yellow curtains still covered the windows; the clock still hung against the wall, tickless. Marcus's eyes glanced restlessly about the room for a moment, not daring to look at the spot where the old man had received his death blow.
And now there was a second and longer probation in that gaunt town of Edinburgh, without any miniature to lie beside me on my work-table like a tickless watch, and help along the weary hours. For, as it seemed, the mere sight of the hand-of-write would have cheered me. Henceforward I could only learn, as it were, by ricochet what was going on. My grandmother never set pen to paper.
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