He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. It's a thousand pities to hang so pretty a fellow. An influence of this description appeared to be exerted on the present occasion. "It is the last," continued the knight, sternly; "and I trust we may never meet again, I have paid you this large sum—not because you are entitled to it, for you have failed in what you undertook to do, but because I desire to be troubled with you no further. “To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged.
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