He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. Gladstone would have to a carelessly displayed interior on a dissecting-room table. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. . ” He said flatly. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her.
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