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"Has any one been here?" he asked. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. Of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. CHAPTER IV. The knife is at my breast.
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