"I'll tell you a dream I had last night," continued the unfortunate being. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. " "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. "Will you plead?" demanded Wild, harshly.
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