They had cried a little, both. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. 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. . It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. There was a certain amount of disputation, and meanwhile she went on at school. There was a hint of tears in her voice. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. Recollect that. His blood would be sweet with it. Aware of the cunning and desperate characters of the persons with whom she would have to deal,—aware, also, that she was in a quarter where no laws could be appealed to, nor assistance obtained, she felt the absolute necessity of caution. It needs cultivating, I think.
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