“This way, madam!”
They followed the officer through a gloomy corridor, until they came to the cell in which Peg was confined.
The tenant of the cell looked surprised to find Mrs. Clifton accompanied by Ida.
“How do you do, Ida?” she said, smiling grimly; “you see I've moved. Just tell your mother she can sit down on the bed. I'm sorry I haven't any rocking-chair or sofa to offer you.”
“O Peg,” said Ida, her tender heart melted by the woman's misfortunes; “how sorry I am to find you here!”
“Are you sorry?” asked Peg, looking at her in surprise.
“You haven't much cause to be. I've been your worst enemy, or one of the worst.”
“I can't help it,” said the child, her face beaming with a divine compassion; “it must be so sad to be shut up here, and not be able to go out into the bright sunshine. I do pity you.”
Peg's heart was not wholly hardened. Few are. But it was long since it had been touched as it was now by this great pity on the part of one she had injured.
“You're a good girl, Ida,” she said; “and I'm sorry I've injured you. I didn't think I should ever ask forgiveness of anybody; but I do ask your forgiveness.”