But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. “Dear John,” she whispered. Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Arrived beneath an aperture in the broken roof, he was preparing to pass through it, when he observed a little heap of tiles upon the floor, which appeared to have been recently dislodged. Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland. He could not move; but stood like one stupified, with his hands clasped together, and eyes almost starting out of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortunate parent.
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