Having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, Kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. I suppose it is the mirrors and decorations. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life.
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