I remember when the door was opened she was standing there as if listening for something. When she saw us she came forward courteously. “Take me away from here,” she exclaimed. “I’ve never been accustomed to it. It is dark and damp. I do not like it. Take me away.” I was surprised at the quiet way in which she spoke, it was so unlike the rest whom we had visited. “You must have patience,” Vestné declared. “You will get out safely enough when the time comes.” I noticed, for I was looking at her closely, that at this her lips trembled, but still she answered, with no very apparent change in her voice,— “I’ve been patient for a very long time, longer than anybody knows. Please take me away.” “It is impossible,” Vestné assured her. She now turned to me. “Sir,” she said, “I am suffering. Take me away.” I looked at her, but, beyond the sympathy I felt, knew I was powerless. Then she began again and passed her hand across her brow. “Take me away. Once when I asked for things they were always given me, but now no one listens or understands. I want to go away. Take me away.” “Is this place so very fearful?” I ventured, looking round the cold, bare cell. Her voice sank to a whisper. “I think I have bad dreams. And then I wake, and lie and wait for the day to break. But it never breaks. The night never ends, and the darkness is suffocating me. You don’t know what it is, you’ve never lived in here. No one ever comes near me except when it is very dark. And then men and women come and curse me, and say that I have ruined them. But I think that can only be a dream, for they have ruined me. Take me away. Oh! stranger, take me away.” I turned towards the door. Gradually she was losing that unusual self-control which had marked her when first we entered. As I moved she clutched my arm. “I will come with you,” she cried hoarsely. “Look! Look! They press upon me like spectres from every side. I am frightened of them; they are killing me inch by inch. Sometimes I scream in terror, and they laugh. Oh, God! God! God! what have I done that I should be tormented thus?” Even as she spoke her voice died down and her strength failed. She fell back upon the floor. And then upon the crucifix the form lay hanging. And beneath it stood a group of men and women watching her. “Those men loved, the women hated her,” said Vestné. “And now hate and love have joined hands, for hate lived when love was dead.” We went out in silence. “I will show you only one more,” she said, “and then we will go, as I am invited out to dinner to-night and cannot stay long. We are now going to a cell which will make you feel more cheerful. It is the cell of one who has learnt to stand punishment and has therefore finished with it.”