It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. The door popped open with a sigh. ’ She moved quickly to the nearest bookcase, and listened intently to the sound of Jack’s voice. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. 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 was the bitterest moment of her life. Mrs.
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