He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. The key's in the lock, on the inner side. Presently, two carriages dashed down the hill, and drew up before it. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted.
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