There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. The old man was conducted to Jack's cell by the turnkey, who remained near him during their interview. Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. “I want to be your friend,” he said. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot.
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