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. There it is. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. " "Not your only chance, Thames," returned Jack, in the same undertone; "but your best.
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