"Then I'll have it before to-morrow morning," said the keeper of the New Prison, to himself. I told you no good would come of it. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous.
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