He was what the corner-man of a nigger troupe would call “a gone coon.”
The huntress had him in her toils.
“You will,” she repeated. “If you could see into this heart!”
She placed his hand beneath the folds of her bodice on her bare bosom.
The young chaplain was astounded—he was in a delirium of delight.
With his disengaged arm he pressed her form, and covered her cheeks and lips with burning and passionate kisses.
* * * * *
It was night in the prison.
For a few hours all punishments were past—all cares were forgotten.
It was night in the prison, and all save Murdock and his attendant slept—the guilty with the innocent—the prisoners with the gaolers—the chained with the free.