Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. Her eyes followed him. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively. Like the Castle, which it resembled in all respects except that it was destitute even of a barrack-bedstead, the Red Room was reserved for state-prisoners, and had not been occupied since the year 1716, when the jail, as has before been mentioned, was crowded by the Preston rebels.
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