tfulness of her bitter
captivity in the old poet's charming lyrics. She sat on the floor, some
blankets and furs drawn around her, the book on her lap, the stupidly
dull lamp hanging beside her on a part of the swivel. Her hair lay
loose over her neck and shoulders and shimmered around her face with a
cloud-like effect, giving to the features in their repose a setting
that intensified their sweetness and sadness. In a very low but
distinct voice was reading, with a slightly quavering emotion:

"Mignonne, allons voir si la rose,
Que ce matin avoit desclose
Sa robe de pourpe au soleil."

When Hamilton, after stealthily mounting the rough stairway which led
to her door, peeped in through a space between the slabs and felt a
stroke of disappointment, seeing at a glance that Farnsworth was not
there. He gazed for some time, not without a sense of villainy, while
she continued her sweetly monotonous reading. If his heart had been as
hard as the iron swivel-balls that lay beside Alice, he must still have
felt a thrill of something like tender sympathy. She now showed no
trace of the vivacious sauciness which had heretofore always marked her
features when she was in his presence. A dainty gentleness, touched
with melancholy, gave to her face an appealing look all the more
powerful on account of its unconscious simplicity of expression.

The man felt an impulse pure and noble, which would have borne him back
down the ladder and away from the building, had not a stronger one set
boldly in the opposite direction. There was a short struggle with the
seared remnant of his better nature, and then he tried to open the
door; but it was locked.

Alice heard the slight noise and breaking off her reading turned to
look. Hamilton made another effort to enter before he recollected that
the wooden key, or notched lever, that controlled the cumbrous wooden
lock, hung on a peg beside the door. He felt for it along the wall, and
soon laid his hand on it. Then again he peeped through to see Alice,
who was now standing upright near the swivel. She had thrown her hair
back from her face and neck; the lamp's flickering light seemed
suddenly to have magnified her stature and enhanced her beauty. Her
book lay on the tumbled wraps at her feet, and in either hand she
grasped a swivel-shot.

Hamilton's combative disposition came to the aid of his baser passion
when he saw once more a defiant flash from his prisoner's face. It was
easy