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. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. His hug became an embrace. "Good gracious! so I do," exclaimed his amiable consort. ‘But a spy I am not. Would Gerald wish his friend to follow the man? He had hardly registered the decision that he had best do so, albeit with some reluctance, when his trained senses alerted him to an extraordinary circumstance.
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