Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. Spurling in alarm. “But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct.
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