" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. He smiled tenderly. The wall was of considerable thickness, and built altogether of stone; and the noise he was compelled to make in using the heavy bar, which brought sparks with every splinter he struck off, was so great, that he feared it must be heard by the prisoners on the Debtors' side. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. .
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