The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. “Why?” He inquired. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. . ’ Again, Melusine did not waste words.
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