A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. “I have been bearing this—for your sake. The storm appeared to have blown over, for they were conversing in a very amicable manner with Mr. "Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. ” “I wish you good luck,” she answered.
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