” She stirred gently in her chair. ” “You don’t. ” “It isn’t that you’re splendid or I,” said Capes. 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. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr.
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