But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. ‘I try to be. He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. Escape was now impossible. ” She murmured. The period of repression was over. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery.
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