A fever of shame ran through her being. She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver. "I thought you were asleep. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation.
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