She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. ” “John, do you remember me at all?” “Lucy?!” He cried in disbelief. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. Great stone staircases leading no one knew whither, and long gloomy passages, impressed the occasional visitor with the idea that he was traversing a building of vast extent; and, though this was not the case in reality, the deception was so cleverly contrived that it seldom failed of producing the intended effect.
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