He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. “I confess it. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. He wanted to talk with the patient, test him variously; and he wanted to be alone with him while he put these tests. And there was another matter. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. The door was then locked, and he was left alone.
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