He resolved to judge for himself. . "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. ” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said.
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