hard to get ye out again. Yet,
since the young man ye wish to see is a very decent gentleman, and
knoweth well the needs of a poor working body like myself, we will take
the matter under advisement, as the court saith, forsooth."

They passed through the heavy gates, down a narrow and heavy-aired
passage, and finally into a naked room. It was here, in such somber
surroundings, that Mary Connynge saw again the man whose image had been
graven on her heart ever since that morn at Sadler's Wells. How her
heart coveted him, how her blood leaped for him--these things the Mary
Connynges of the world can tell, they who own the primeval heart of
womankind.

When John Law himself at length entered the room, he stepped forward at
first confidently, eagerly, though with surprise upon his face. Then,
with a sudden hesitation, he looked sharply at the figure which he saw
awaiting him in the dingy room. His breath came sharp, and ended in a
sigh. For a half moment his face flushed, his brow showed question and
annoyance. Yet rapidly, after his fashion, he mastered himself.

"Will," said he, calmly, to his brother, "kindly ask the coachman to
wait for this lady."

He stood for a moment gazing after the form of his brother as it
disappeared in the outer shadows. For this half-moment he took swift
counsel of himself. It was a face calm and noncommittal that he turned
toward the girl who sat now in the darkest corner of the room, her head
cast down, her foot beating a signal of perturbation upon the floor.
From the corner of her eye Mary Connynge saw him, a tall and manly man,
superbly clad, faultless in physique and raiment from top to toe. He
stood as though ready to step into his carriage for some voyage to rout
or ball. Youth, vigor, self-reliance, confidence, this was the whole
message of the splendid figure. The blood of Mary Connynge, this
survival, this half-savage woman, unregulated, unsubdued, leaped high
within her bosom, fled to her face, gave color to her cheek and
brightness to her eye. Her breath shortened after feline fashion. Deep
was calling unto deep, ancient unto ancient, primitive unto primitive.
Without the gate of London prison there was one abject prisoner. Within
its gates there were two prisoners, and one of them was slave for life!

"Madam," said John Law, in deep and vibrant tone, "you will pardon me if
I say that it gives me surprise to see you here."

"Yes; I have come," said the girl, not logically.