“John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. Here, without a glimpse of daylight; visited by no one except Austin at stated intervals, who neither answered a question nor addressed a word to him; fed upon the worst diet, literally mouldy bread and ditch-water; surrounded by stone walls; with a flagged floor for his pillow, and without so much as a blanket to protect him from the death-like cold that pierced his frame,—Jack's stout heart was subdued, and he fell into the deepest dejection, ardently longing for the time when even a violent death should terminate his sufferings. Unless we can get some optimism into him, he'll probably start this all over again when he gets on his feet. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching.
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