Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. He had him removed from the Condemned Hold, stripped of his fine apparel, clothed in the most sordid rags, loaded with additional fetters, and thrust into the Stone Hold,—already described as the most noisome cell in the whole prison. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child. She was finally dead, going to Hell.
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