"Jack!" she cried, raising her head. " "I don't require it," returned Sheppard. Wagner had just been in love when he wrote it all. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. Our heads swim with the thought of being together. She proffered her neck towards him. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention. Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe.
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