It
was now devoted to a more dignified purpose, being occupied by a white
man and his wife, the victims of Jaspar Dumont's hatred and fears. They
had already been prisoners for the past forty-eight hours. No sound from
the wide, wide world without had reached them; and, though the man had
shouted himself hoarse in endeavors to arrest the attention of any
casual passer-by, the sound of his voice had risen to Heaven, but had
not been heard by any mortal ear.
On a heap of dirty straw, in one corner, lay a female. She was feeble
and helpless. By her side, gazing sadly upon her, was her companion,
pale and haggard, and apparently conquered in spirit. The sufferings of
the frail being by his side seemed to pierce him to the soul. He felt
not for himself; his thoughts, his feelings, all were devoted to her,
whom he had loved and respected through many vicissitudes, whose kindly
sympathy had cheered his heart in many of the severest of earth's
trials. They had passed through peril and poverty together, and now the
cup of tribulation seemed full to the brim.
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