He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. As Jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed after him. “You are beautiful, Lucy. I'll think no more about her. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. The chamber rang with her shrieks. But I will never—never return. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. Taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them. . Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning.
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