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. "What's become of Ruth?" "Gone to her room. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. " The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door. He hasn't found himself, as they say. I’m a desperate young woman. " "Mr. .
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