Romeo and Juliet.

Othello.

Whilst the news that Claude Montigny had given, to a girl of dubious birth and uncertain social position, the heart, for the possession of which the supercillious Seraphine Duchatel had so long striven in vain, was disturbing the souls of the Montboeuf Manorhouse, the seigneur of Mainville, ill at ease, and apprehensive of a hasty and irremediable matrimonial step on the part of his son, started for Montreal again to visit the intractable advocate.

Later in the same day, Claude also took horse, and rode towards the banks of the Ottawa, where he arrived at dusk, and crossing at the ferry from the main to Sainte Anne, he thence, solitary, and filled with chequered thoughts, continued his way, whilst the ground grew dimmer and yet dimmer, and star after star stole out; till, as the moon rose slowly in the glimmering air, he reached the neighbourhood of dim Mount Royal.

At the same hour that the large bateau was heaving its way over the vexed flood of the meeting waters of the Saint Lawrence and the Ottawa, four horsemen crossed a rustic bridge, that led from the mainland to the opposite, or eastern extremity of the Island of Montreal. One of the riders was of gigantic stature, and another of diminutive proportions; and all were clad in the coarse grey frieze suit of the country, and wore upon their heads the common blue cap or tuque. Pursuing their way, they kept to the least frequented paths; endeavouring to avoid recognition; until the coming night concealed them, and they journeyed beneath the decrescent and feebly shining moon.

And now, whilst such was transpiring at the extremities of the Island, at Stillyside, its centre, the curtains had been drawn, and the lighted lamp, with its frosted glass globe, shone serene and silvery, like a minor and domestic moon. Mona Macdonald sat sewing near a table, whilst Amanda read aloud. On a sofa a lazy lapdog dreamed, the parrot slept on its swing, and the bullfinch on the perch in its cage, and in the pauses of Amanda's voice, the drowsy cat was heard purring in its evening doze. Nothing was heard without, except the fitful bark of the Newfoundland dog at some stray passer by; and, at length, even that had ceased; Mona's needle was laid aside, the domestics, obedient to the early habits of country life, were abed, Mona herself had now retired, and Amanda being left alone, nothing was heard but the measured ticking of the old clock on the corner of the stairs. The lamp had been taken away by the departing Mona, and in the obscurity, the moonbeams fell in grey streaks adown the damask curtains; and after a brief meditation on the subject of her reading, Amanda rose, noiselessly ascended the carpeted stairs to her room, approached the window, drew aside the drapery, and gazed towards Mainville. Thus had she done each night since the memorable interview with Claude Montigny; and now not less long did she linger there, but longer; nor thought of retiring, till, startled at the approaching sound of horses, she hastily re-closed the curtains; the sound ceased, and she began slowly to undress. But her thoughts were elsewhere; and, falling into a reverie, she sat with her raised fingers still upon her dress, that she was about to withdraw from before her snowy bosom, when again she heard the sound of hoofs on the road, and soon a shaking of reins near the gate, and champing of the bit, mingled with the smothered growl of the awakened Newfoundlander. Divining the cause, and seized with trembling, she arose, again threw aside the curtains, and beheld in the moonlight a figure advancing up the lawn. A moment she gazed upon the apparition; then, scarcely knowing what she did, opened the folding window, and half within and half without her chamber, leaning forward into the night, demanded in a piercing whisper of enquiry and alarm: “Who comes there? Speak, is it Claude Montigny?”

“It is I, my love, for by what name shall you be called, yet dearer, worthier than love?” responded the subdued, yet full, clear voice of Claude. Then, drawing nearer, he continued in an enraptured tone:

“Oh, my lady, oh, my heart, my love, my life; my mistress now, my wife that is to be: my breath, my soul; my hope, my happiness, my all in all; fair presence—but in vain my tongue seeks for the word that shall embody you, and, like the hunted hare returning to its form, so does my soul return to that word, love. My love, then, be it, for you are my love, you are my life henceforward; nor shall the hereafter part us, for wherever you are there unto me will still be heaven. Oh, my love, is it not kind of fortune thus to call you forth? a favorable omen of the issue of this night. Oh, come forth, my love; come forth, and make a hallowed aisle of the verandah.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Amanda, stepping to the verandah, “why have you ventured here again so soon,—or, rather, why so late? for are there not ruffian robbers on the road, and all the secret perils of the night?”

“No peril equals that of absence from yourself,” said Claude, “for passion has greater perils than the road. Cupid's arrows are more terrible to him whose breast is bared by the absence of its mistress, than would be at the traveller's throat the armed and threatening hands of fifty ruthless robbers. But how have you fared since we were so rudely parted?”

Amanda sighed. “But so so;” she murmured mournfully, “it is a slight burn that does not smart a little when the scorched part is snatched away from the fire:” and hanging down her head bashfully, repeated, “But so so:—I have felt an unaccustomed care—of little consequence,—but, oh, tell me, Montigny, how your father, the proud, rich seigneur takes this matter, for I know you would inform him of it. Is he not incensed, not angry; does he not upbraid you, and call me evil, and perhaps deserved, hard names?”

“He has expostulated with me;” Claude responded; “yet not with too much earnestness, knowing love's fires are blown by opposition. How seems your guardian?”

“How shall I dare to meet him!” murmured Amanda musing.

“Do not fear him;” Claude rejoined: “he will not chide you;—besides, you shall be gone to-morrow. I come to-night, a Jason for the golden fleece, and may not return without it. Stillyside is Colchis, and my desires are dolphins that have brought me hither, and will not, returning, ferry me across the Ottawa, unless they shall be freighted with your form. Mine own one, do not stand transfixed like death in life, but live here no longer; leave it, and live with me for ever, for from where you are my feet shall never stray. Do not misdoubt me: though man were as faithless as it is said that woman is fickle, yet I were loyal towards you, whom I implore to be my affianced to-night, my bride to-morrow.”

“To-morrow!—Oh, so soon,” exclaimed Amanda, starting.

“It will be a thousand years till then;” interposed Montigny; “and yet it will be the glad millenium, since you shall reign amidst my meditations, and towards you all my thoughts be worshipping saints. This dumb devotion will be bliss, but to have sealed you mine by the great sacrament of marriage will be glory, such as the saved soul experiences when, in Heaven sitting, it feels itself secure, and proof against the possibility of loss. Accord me your consent. Why do you ponder? wherefore should you hesitate? Amanda, be immediately mine. What are your thoughts? What are you that transports me with impatience out of myself, to mingle with your being, and become one with yourself in history and fate? Our fate commands; let us obey it, since, what is fate's behest, but Heaven's directing voice; what is our destiny, but the deed which we perceive may not be left undone.”

“Rash man, forbear;” pronounced Amanda, her face darkening with displeasure; “you counsel me to evil. Though I would esteem you as I would some annunciating angel, beyond impeachment of veracity, and bent on a generous errand, you seem as a fallen spirit now; tempting me, not enlightening. No, Montigny, no. Shall I deceive my guardian so kind, shall I defraud your house, your father, you? I, who have no fortune, nor—as is your lot—upon my name, neither the rime and hoar of silver, new renown, nor golden rust of brown antiquity,—the dust of ages in heroic deeds, lying on your escutcheon, dyeing it as the dust that dapples the bright insect's wings;—shall I, I say, come and lie like to a bar sinister across it? for what else should I be considered by your indignant friends, except, indeed, a shadow on your brightness, a shame across your honour?” and she hung her head in despairing sadness, whilst Montigny thus replied:

“Oh, shame on me, to hear you so self-slandered! Friends! mistaken friends. And what although my father and the world esteemed you my inferior; what were their estimation unto me; and, compared with you, what is the value of heraldic honours and traditionary glory heaped upon the dead, which is, in truth, too often only as the phosphorescent glimmer that hangs upon decay: what are these gauds to me, who count you to be far above the worth of monumental effigy, or marble mask, my living love; whom I will set,—not in the tomb of cold, pale porphyry, nor in a sable, slabbed sarcophagus, but breathing, and enshrined in fortune's framing gold. Fastidious girl, and prouder than the proud Montignys, listen to me, listen. We are two stranger vessels that have met upon the highway of the lonely sea;—we are as two ships that, being long from port, have, sailing, met, and exchanged one with the other, what each has needed and what each could spare; we have bartered heart for heart. Have you not given me yours? If you have not, why, then, return me mine.”

“Then were I poor indeed,” replied Amanda.

“Yet I were poorer without yours,” retorted Claude, “poorer than he who begs his bread. I wish I had to beg my bread for you, then richly should you fare; for who, when I should crave for love of you, (as mendicants ask alms for love of heaven), could then refuse me? Oh, refuse no longer my request. Estimate not my fortune, but appraise myself; and whatsoever you may deem to be my value, account your own worth as being ten thousand times that sum. Still take me, a mere miserable doit; an earnest, an instalment towards the payment of the debt of love and loyalty, that shall require a life to liquidate, then leave me bankrupt in untold arrears.”

“I should forgive the debt, even before you could have asked forgiveness,” replied Amanda, smiling, though much moved; “and yet I would not leave you perfectly absolved, but still retain you by some small reminder, some power of execution over you—not to be exercised towards you to your hurt—far from it, but I would be absolute that I might shew you mercy; even as noblest kings have been despotic, and in their day have delighted in dispensing pardon. So would I be towards you;—or even as the King of Kings—to speak it reverently—who, of His boundless goodness and free grace, remits the debts and manifold trespasses of us, his poor, defaulting creatures.”

“Go on, for it is bliss to hear you,” murmured Claude.

“Nay, I have done;—what have I said?” she quietly enquired of him.

“Would you unsay it?” he demanded eagerly.

“Only to say it again,” she answered blushing,—“yet I fear I have babbled strangely;—but, remember, I was never wooed before, nor answered wooer; so, being a novice in love's archery, it may be that the gust of a too ardent breath has caught my words, and from my meaning wafted them awry.”

“And can a fountain yield both bitter and sweet?” demanded Claude: “or are you as changeful as is yon waning moon?” he asked half chidingly.

“Rather consider me to be as is the sun, that knows no change of aspect throughout the livelong year; or, if it vary, swells its orb in winter,” she observed, “even as I would now appear to you with fuller favor, amidst this young acquaintance's chilly prospect.”

“Chilly! it is summer wherever lovers cast their eyes, the bright Bermudas. Do not libel love, nor our sweet fortunes,” cried Claude impetuously: “For me, there never will be winter where you are; and why, when I am with you, should you thus seem to shiver, as it were, in the shadow of November?”

“I am no casuist,” she said, “and yet it would appear to be too selfish in me, too much like to fraud, should I accept all that you offer me, such vast and personal advantage, and for which I bring you no equivalent, no dower, no estate; nothing to counterpoise the wide possessions that you will inherit;—nothing that may conciliate your family, rich in material things and heaped with honors,—save my poor love;—and what were that?”

“More than them all,” ejaculated Claude, “but why these scruples? In human hearts love is not placed against love, as in the scales the commodity is placed against the weight; neither is it exchanged for land, or bartered for position; but it is always given, and is the donor's whole, unmeasured and immeasurable. It is infinite, growing whilst it is being given, even as the horizon grows upon the eye of him who travels towards it. It is because it must be; it is unselfish; nay, unto itself it is unjust; often giving the most where it receives the least; possessing nothing, yet possessing all, if it possesses but all its object's heart. It is towards its object as is the encircling and cloud-breeding sea unto the verdant island, encompassing, and in soft showers, shedding itself over it. As the sea sheds itself in soft showers upon the island, so do I shed my fondness, and would shed my fortune, over you, and in return seek for yourself,—no more, for what more could you give, what more could I receive, who count all else as worthless dross. What hinders then our marriage?”

“Your father,” was replied.

“He would not consent unto our nuptials though I should pray him on my bended knees, so obstinate and unyielding is his pride,” asseverated Claude.

“My guardian, too, is proud,” answered Amanda.

“Let us not wait, but wed without, and not against their leave, then;” Montigny urged adroitly:—“but your guardian will consent: he has avowed as much unto me privately; so, mark; when morning brings the daylight to the east, be ready. Meet me beyond these grounds; when we will hasten to the village of Saint Laurent, and there be married. The deed being thus achieved, none will oppose, for before the irrevocable all rebuke is dumb.”

“And so am I to this,” was replied with dignity.

“Yet let me speak:” Montigny urged with desperate eagerness, “let me persuade you, for to this pass it must come; then let it come at once, since each day will cause the path thereunto to grow more rugged. My father's storm of threats, my mother's deluge of tears, will make the way impassable and past repair. You falter; your silence speaks consent; you are convinced, and yield to the necessity for this ungracious consummation. Good night. To-morrow early, meet me at the church of Saint Laurent, all shall be ready,—pray offer no remonstrance;—meet me there at ten,—the priest is my fast friend;—nay, do not grieve, but say good night; to-morrow you shall smile:—goodnight, good night;” and kissing his hand to her, before she could reply, the impetuous lover reached the postern, and, vaulting into the saddle, vanished.

Paralyzed with amazement and apprehension, Amanda stood motionless and dumb. She would have called on Claude to return, but dare not, lest she should alarm the slumbering inmates of the house, and she was still standing irresolute and helpless, when something was suddenly thrown over her face, shrouding her in darkness, and before she could resist she was lifted from her feet, hurried across the lawn in a diverse direction from that taken by Claude, and on arriving on the road, swung into a lofty saddle. A huge arm from some one seated behind received her, passing around her waist, and feeling like the coil of a boa-constrictor; and, amidst the sound of several persons mounting in haste, spurs were struck into the sides of the large animal, that reared with a vast bound which nearly dismounted its riders; and at once, as it seemed, a troop were flying with her at the top of their speed along the road. Half fainting from terror, and stifling in the folds of some coarse envelopment, she was unable to utter a cry for help, and the cavalcade scoured along its way. One seemed to ride before them, and the rest behind. No one spoke, but her companion on the crupper grasped her tightly, like a relentless fate, and onwards they still bounded, and the deeply spurred steeds in agony of exertion stretched themselves to the task, and still they flew, and still Amanda strove to recover her voice; till as the dumb, in some moment of mortal terror, are said to have found speech, she, with accents, that, bursting through the thick veil, rung amidst the night, shrieked out the name of Claude Montigny. A low, chuckling laugh arose around her, followed by a curse, and a hoarse threat of violence from the figure that rode on the crupper, who at the same time again dug spurs into the flanks of the courser, that once more, with its huge, responding bound nearly dismounted its riders; and prompted as it seemed by fear of a rescue, the rate accelerated till the troop was scouring over the ground with the flight of a tempest. Confused with terror, and alarmed at the threats of her powerful keeper, she remained silent, unable to divine in what direction they were hurrying; but felt that her captor and custodian kept looking behind, as if afraid of some one in pursuit; and the killing pace appeared to rise yet higher, and the animals to quiver in quick bounds like mortal throes, as the spurs were plied up to the rowels, and the creatures seemed to swallow the ground, until again over all burst, as might the shriek of an imprisoned gnome, from beneath her envelopement, the cry of Amanda calling upon the name of Claude Montigny.

“Forward! faster, yet faster!” cried a voice in rage and apprehension; and with renewed application of whip and spur, the party tore along the road, shaking it as the prairie is shaken when it is swept over by a herd of buffaloes.

The party tore along the road, shaking it as the prairie shakes when it is swept over by a herd of buffaloes.

“Claude, Claude!” she again shrieked, and now in addition to the thick cowl, a huge hand was placed upon her mouth, a threat of instant death came from the terrible voice behind her, the grip tightened round her form, and, making her darkness yet darker, at that moment the clouds, that had been lately gathering, covered the moon. Soon the way divided before them. To the left it meandered half hidden with trees, to the right it loomed straight and open, leading to Montreal, and the motion of the horses, now abreast and flinging foam from their bits, seemed like the tossing of the boiling rapids, and amidst the thunder of the hoofs the hoarse voice of him who rode behind her, hissing with earnestness and fear like an excited Python, exclaimed:

“Brother, and you, master Imp, make for the city; away!” And soon, from the diminished sound, she knew that they had parted company with a portion of her convoy. She could hear, too, that the remaining horseman of the four, for that had been the number, had now fallen into the rear, and, soon, she thought she heard through her mufflings a voice crying as if commanding them to stay; and again she heard it, but it had grown fainter, and wider from the track they were pursuing, and now nothing was heard but the sound of their impetuous course through the wood. This was soon cleared, when their speed seemed to relax, and the hard breathing of the overstrained beasts, proclaimed how much the chase had told upon them; and at last the veil was slightly raised, a large, coarse visage peered under it, and the hoarse voice enquired mockingly: “How fares my bird? We will let a little light into its cage, if it will promise to sing no more. What says my hooded crow?” and a titanic and convulsive hug followed, causing her to shrink with pain, and revolt in disgust and horror; feelings which changed to mortal apprehension, when the same lascivious looking ruffian bade his now sole male companion ride on before. The latter made no answer, but dashed up alongside, and gazed into the face of Amanda as he passed, with an air of curiosity mingled with admiration and respect. There was in him a likeness to the sinistrous countenanced ogre behind her; yet he was a rather handsome young fellow; and as the wind, caused by their rapid course, blew backward his long, curly hair, he exhibited a cast of honesty and openness in his aspect. The other seemed to be impatient at his lingering, and growled: “Don't hang glowering here; forwards, and warn me if any one approaches, that I may cover up this toy.” And whilst the monster readjusted the cowl to the face of Amanda, his comrade again pricked the panting sides of his own horse, that being lightlier laden than its fellow, easily shot ahead. And thus they swept along the road, whilst the rising breeze still drove the clouds over the face of the moon, and the race seemed to have its fantastic counterpart in the wrack of the sky. And now they silently journeyed, avoiding village and hamlet, by making wide detours; but, in spite of their precautions, arousing the bark of many a solitary cur, as they swept by each homestead like an apparition. Even these incidents, and possible chances for her rescue at length ceased, and the despairing Amanda, too proud to vainly beg for her release from her stubborn captors, drew the hood again over her face, and in the double darkness called upon Heaven to be her protector and deliverer. That Claude had heard her cries she felt assured; that he had pursued a portion of her abductors towards Montreal, and would continue his efforts, with those of her guardian and the inmates of Stillyside, to find and recover her she did not doubt; but in the meantime what might she not have to endure? And shrinking from the contemplation of the uncertain gulf before her, she was at length recalled to a sense of external things, by a sudden change of sound, from that of the clatter of the horses' hoofs on the hard road, to one like the roll of a distant peal of thunder, and telling her they were crossing a rude wooden bridge, that led from the Island to the main. Then for the first time the riders permanently abated their speed, and their prisoner enquired of them whither they were carrying her.

“Never mind that, my pretty passenger pigeon,” replied the elder with a ghoul-like grin; “you will not require to find your way back this year.” And the foaming, exhausted animals, relieved from the trying gallop, dropped into a feeble trot or lazy canter, whilst Amanda gazed wistfully around to discover some glimpse of dawn. No certain sign of it, however, could she perceive on the circle of the horizon, though all around there showed the whitened eaves of the roof of gloomy clouds. Her companions, too, casting jealous glances at each other in the obscurity, had become more mutually taciturn; and the wind, that during the previous part of their flight had risen, as if to be in keeping with the current violence, had now fallen to a calm; and, proceeding thus, she continued to tell the terrors of her situation, as they alternately glided through the gloom of the clearing, or plunged into the denser darkness of the forest; till at last she was startled by something leaping against her feet, followed by the pleased but stifled barking of a huge hound close by her, and at the same instant she saw a woman bearing a lighted candle in her hand, emerge from a hovel on the road side. The next moment the party were halted before it, and the woman, holding up her light, shed its beams upon the face and form of Amanda, whose arrival she seemed to have been expecting; and after having fixed her eyes searchingly upon her, turned them with a familiar and significant look on the still seated ruffian. The light illuminated her own countenance as much as that of Amanda, who, repelled by her manners and appearance, sat motionless, and checked the appeal that was rising to her lips. The redoubtable rider dismounted awkwardly from behind her, half dragged her from the tall beast, and hurried her into the house. The woman followed, and having closed the door, placed the candle on a table, and sat down by the fire; when Amanda, still standing in the midst of the miserable room, began:

“Woman, what place is this? Where am I, and why have I been brought hither?” then bursting into passionate grief: “Oh, woman, woman, whosoever you are, save me, I implore you, from this man,” and with the words she sprang towards the door; but the churlish giant, guessing her intention, intercepted, and bore her back, saying “Keep quiet, gentle lady; have patience, bashful beauty; sit down, sit down; come pet, come.” And he made as if to approach her; when, forgetting the hazard of her position, and inspired with returning native courage, with her heart swelling with womanly indignation, and looking the vast figure in the face, she cried with an utterance tremulous from grief and scorn: “Whither have you brought me, villain, and for what end? Sirrah, come no nearer me: I am polluted by your touch. Out, shameless wretch!” and again she rushed towards the door, but found it resist her utmost efforts: and, baffled, turning within, she once more addressed herself to the female, who was now carelessly warming herself before some embers on the hearth.

“Woman,” she said, “for that you are one your form and garb assure me, though your behaviour gives your exterior the lie; woman, if you be one, save me. Charge this man—for you have influence with him—to liberate me; oh! charge him to release me. Turn me into the lane, into the field, or where you will; but let me leave this house without delay.”

The female, with a grim smile, bade her recompose herself; whilst the burly brute doggedly hinted to her that she would have to remain some time in those parts, and might as well sit down and be content. Perplexed at this second announcement of her intended restriction, Amanda stood mute in fear and horror. To arouse the creature in whose power she was might be immediately dangerous, but, for a moment, to seem resigned to her abduction was impossible. Trembling with dismay and sickening with apprehension, her limbs would scarcely sustain her; and as she mentally revolved, looking wistfully around, as if to spy any nook or cranny for escape, she at last exclaimed:

“Again, I ask, why am I brought hither? Outlaw, who are you? wherein have I wronged you, that you should drag me to I know not where? What place is this, and why have you come with men as heartless as yourself, stealing me from my home to bring me hither, and cast me into this den?” and her bosom filled as she ended; but her hearer, knowing no compunction, only answered with a sneer: “To clip your wings, madam,” then gave a low laugh, as if of self-applause at his quickness of repartee, or the prospect of her humiliation, and added: “Pray, miss, retire; you have not been abed to-night, and watching is not good for English ladies' eyes.”

“Shameless!” she cried, looking upon him with unmitigable disdain, “how dare you hint at rest within these walls? Return me to the spot whence you have taken me; render me to my home, so desecrated, so invaded by such felonious feet as yours. Felon, convey me to my home at Stillyside, and there reinstate me; if indeed you have the heart, as you have the outward semblance, of a man;” and, in spite of her resentment, she burst into a flood of tears.

But not even woman's tears could move his stolid disposition, or melt his stony heart; and, looking at her with an expression akin to contempt, he demanded:

“What, take the bird back to the bush where we have caught it? No. Besides at present you have taken a long-enough ride, and when next you journey it must be further in the same direction. You shall see the world, and learn how wide it is; you shall have most excellent French society.”

“Oh, keep me, heaven, from such society as yours,” she ejaculated:—“base man!—but do you know to what you have exposed yourself? Beware; I am not without friends both subtle and strong, and one of whom will not be slow to punish you for this outrage. Release me, stranger, or you shall be visited with his vengeance, not to be trifled with, not to be risked with safety.”

“Ah, the old advocate,” exclaimed the giant, with more bitterness than he had hitherto manifested; “Outrage! he has himself outraged too many of our race.”

“Ay, that he has;” the woman chimed in, whilst her eyes suddenly glared dilating, and she looked menacingly at Amanda; “there is Robitaille, and Lamoureux, and Paille, and myself, and Babet Blais, —poor Babet! but her boy, his boy, his own son, has paid him down with sorrow, he has punished him;—ha! ha!” and both she and her Gorgon-like guest laughed a meaning and triumphant laugh, whilst Amanda yet stood there to be baited by the brutish man and the lost, revengeful woman, the latter of whom thus continued to vent her spleen: “Mistress, what are you but an English interloper? Girl, how can we endure you? Do you not despise us? Do you not insult, despoil, dishonor us? Do you not covet our lands, do you not reap the taxes, take the trade? Would you not all be Seigneurs? What shall we give you that you have not already taken! Ah, out upon you, my young mistress! Think it well if you should not receive what I shall not now name to you,—your guardian's gift to many a maiden—and worse;” she added between her teeth; “death, death,” and turned away scowling.

“Return me to my home, or worse than death awaits you;” cried Amanda; “endless infamy; hated of our race, despised of yours, disowned by both.”

But the woman by this time had begun to busy herself in piling new logs upon the fire, and the colossus, her companion, after having scanned the apartment, seemingly to ascertain whether it was to be trusted to retain the prisoner, at length, satisfied with the result of his scrutiny, unlocked the door with the key which he drew from his pocket, and bestowing a bow of mock respect upon Amanda, who affected not to perceive it, departed; and she, without vouchsafing a look upon her feminine but callous jailor, sank upon a chair in silence.