Carstares lay awake long that night, hearing the hours toll by and the owls screech in the square. The widow’s words had sunk deep into his ever-uneasy conscience, and he could not sleep for the thought of John, “alone, unhappy, without friends.”⁠ ⁠… Time after time had he argued this question with himself: John or Lavinia?⁠ ⁠… He fell to wondering where his brother now was; whether he was still roaming the South Country, a highwayman. No one would ever know how he, Richard, dreaded each fresh capture made by the military. Every time he expected John to be among the prisoners, and he visited Newgate so often that his friends twitted him on it, vowing he had Selwyn’s love of horrors.