"And if not?"

"In that case, I shall hope to forget that you ever favored me
with a visit."

In making this reply I was guiltless of any malicious intention.
What evil interpretation she placed on my words it is impossible
for me to say; I can only declare that some intolerable sense of
injury hurried her into an outbreak of rage. Her voice, strained
for the first time, lost its tuneful beauty of tone.

"Come and see us in two years' time," she burst out--"and
discover the orphan of the gallows in our house if you can!
If your Asylum won't take her, some other Charity will. Ha, Mr.
Governor, I deserve my disappointment! I ought to have remembered
that you are only a jailer after all. And what is a jailer?
Proverbially a brute. Do you hear that? A brute!"

Her strength suddenly failed her. She dropped back into the chair
from which she had risen, with a faint cry of pain. A ghastly
pallor stole over her face. There was wine on the sideboard;
I filled a glass. She refused to take it. At that time in
the day, the Doctor's duties required his attendance in
the prison. I instantly sent for him. After a moment's look at
her, he took the wine out of my hand, and held the glass to
her lips.

"Drink it," he said. She still refused. "Drink it," he
reiterated, "or you will die."