Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. Above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it a gloomy cell, called Tangier; and, lower still, the Stone Hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of daylight. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. It’s not far from twilight. Last week. It is no crime, none at all. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked.
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