CHAPTER I. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. "No," replied Jonathan, moodily. .
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