“We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. But in a little while you will awake; and if there is a spark of manhood in you, you will be horrified at this day's work. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. The door was opened, and Austin entered the cell, when he absolutely recoiled before the spectacle he beheld, and could scarcely have looked more alarmed if the prison had tumbled about his ears. What little happiness I had I was forced to steal. . . It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
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