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He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. 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. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. "I have it too!" exclaimed Hogarth, busily plying his pencil. "Well, I will see him," replied the knight, after a moment's pause; "he may be from the Earl of Mar. You cannot—shall not retreat.
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