The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. Lucy was surprised to hear that any party could happen on a week night, but the parents of the house in question were the rich absentee type. "Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. Howsomdever, if you should reach t'other side, take an old feller's advice, and don't be foolhardy enough to venter back again.
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