He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. “I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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