Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. I wonder——” He turned slowly round. ’ ‘No, but you’ve made up for it since. But they were too late. " Trenchard took up a pen. Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. Here, without a glimpse of daylight; visited by no one except Austin at stated intervals, who neither answered a question nor addressed a word to him; fed upon the worst diet, literally mouldy bread and ditch-water; surrounded by stone walls; with a flagged floor for his pillow, and without so much as a blanket to protect him from the death-like cold that pierced his frame,—Jack's stout heart was subdued, and he fell into the deepest dejection, ardently longing for the time when even a violent death should terminate his sufferings. CHAPTER X.
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