Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. He struck out from the shoulder, and the man measured his length upon the pavement.
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