Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. Something in his tone pinched her heart. 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. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally.
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