Romescos gives wonderful
evidence of his "first best cunning propensities;" and here he
fancies he has pronounced an opinion that will be taken as profound.
He affects heedlessness of everything, is quite disinterested, and,
thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, assumes an air of dignity
that would not unbecome my Lord Chief Justice.
"Let us see them two bits of disputed property,--where are they?"
inquires Graspum, turning half round, and addressing himself to the
gaoler.
"In the close cells," is the quick reply,--"through the narrow vault,
up the stone passage, and on the right, in the arched cell."
The gaoler-good, honest-hearted man-leads the way, through a chilly
vault, up the narrow passage, to the left wing of the building. The
air is pestiferous; warm and diseased, it fans us as we approach.
The gaoler puts his face to the grating, and in a guttural voice,
says, "You're wanted, young uns." They understand the summons; they
come forward as if released from torture to enjoy the pure air of
heaven. Confinement, dreary and damp, has worn deep into their
systems.
Annette speaks feebly, looks pale and sickly. Her flaxen curls still
dangle prettily upon her shoulders. She expected her mother; that
mother has not come. The picture seems strange; she looks childishly
and vacantly round,--at the dealers, at Graspum, at the sheriff, at
the familiar faces of the old plantation people. She recognizes
Harry, and would fain leap into his arms.
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