If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. Above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it a gloomy cell, called Tangier; and, lower still, the Stone Hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of daylight. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded.
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