Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. "I understand," she said. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. "Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened.
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