On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door of the Well Hole ajar. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. It suited him to dampen the spirits of any who sought to impose upon him, as these relics of the loathed family of Valade seemed like to do. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature.
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