The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. Perhaps you will meet him someday. He was a handsome man, and Lucy could see the strong resemblance of John to him. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. And how much I owe you, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention. ” Lucy grew hot. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out.
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