The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Another glass, Jack. She had become neutral towards him and he had used the lesson to try to advance himself. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene. ” “The good God!” Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. .
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