It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. ” And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind her listening watched and thought about him. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated.
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