" "They're lifting her out of the carriage," interposed Charcam; "will it please your honour to send for some advice and the chaplain?" "Fly for both," returned Sir Rowland, in a tone of bitter anguish. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. The winters were terrible in cold climates, and she often had been driven to dig herself large underground pits where she waited it out like a mole in the cold months.
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