" "Och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be said; and right sorry am I, I struck him. Nigel, you have not forgotten!” “No,” he said, with a little bitter smile. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate.
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