When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. "I'll make sure work this time," he added, about to repeat the blow. Lucy replied, \"My hair has a mind of its own. It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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