“To the best of my belief, I have never seen the man in my life. Here, without a glimpse of daylight; visited by no one except Austin at stated intervals, who neither answered a question nor addressed a word to him; fed upon the worst diet, literally mouldy bread and ditch-water; surrounded by stone walls; with a flagged floor for his pillow, and without so much as a blanket to protect him from the death-like cold that pierced his frame,—Jack's stout heart was subdued, and he fell into the deepest dejection, ardently longing for the time when even a violent death should terminate his sufferings. Fell to sin, did Martha. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work.
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