When they came to the round-house, Terry's courage failed him. "Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. "I've done all I can to the portrait here. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.
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