Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. 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. She turned back into the hall. . “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. Here, it might be anything at all.
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