Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. Indeed it was apparent, from the likeness between them, that they were nearly related. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. But she did not speak. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate.
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