I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. She pointed. “I suppose, Vee, you don’t see much of those Widgetts now?” “I go in and talk to Constance sometimes. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. 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. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. Every day in the year you will witness such scenes.
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