In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. She seemed honestly glad to see him.
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