The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. “It’s too bad. I didn’t understand. Please sit with me. I am on my way to an aunt who lives in Hartford, Connecticut. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. 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. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had ever read.
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