"Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. But shortly this movement ceased. “These are the playgrounds of life. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. Amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. Here the prisoners took exercise; and a quaint, but striking picture has been left of their appearance when so engaged, by the author of the English Rogue. Lord, but it was a nun! Just as he had suspected.
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