“I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. Obeying some fine instinct, she had come to the prison in a dark veil, but she had pushed this up to kiss Ann Veronica and never drawn it down again. Be so good as to come this way. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. It’s—Mrs. " Spurlock pointed in the sloping fields outside the walls.
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