Miss Eunice wept a little. She was on the eve of despairing.

In the silence of the night the idea presented itself to her with a
disagreeable baldness. There was a thief over yonder that possessed a
confidence with her.

They had found it necessary to shut this man up in iron and stone, and
to guard him with a rifle with a large leaden ball in it.

This villain was a convict. That was a terrible word, one that made her
blood chill.

She, the admired of hundreds and the beloved of a family, had done a
secret and shameful thing of which she dared not tell. In these solemn
hours the madness of her act appalled her.

She asked herself what might not the fellow do with the glove? Surely he
would exhibit it among his brutal companions, and perhaps allow it to
pass to and fro among them. They would laugh and joke with him, and he
would laugh and joke in return, and no doubt he would kiss it to their
great delight. Again, he might go to her friends, and, by working upon
their fears and by threatening an exposure of her, extort large sums of
money from them. Again, might he not harass her by constantly appearing
to her at all times and all places and making all sorts of claims and
demands? Again, might he not, with terrible ingenuity, use it in
connection with some false key or some jack-in-the-box, or some
dark-lantern, or something, in order to effect his escape; or might he
not tell the story times without count to some wretched
curiosity-hunters who would advertise her folly all over the country, to
her perpetual misery?

She became harnessed to this train of thought. She could not escape from
it. She reversed the relation that she had hoped to hold toward such a
man, and she stood in his shadow, and not he in hers.

In consequence of these ever-present fears and sensations, there was one
day, not very far in the future, that she came to have an intolerable
dread of. This day was the one on which the sentence of the man was to
expire. She felt that he would surely search for her; and that he would
find her there could be no manner of doubt, for, in her surplus of
confidence, she had told him her full name, inasmuch as he had told her
his.

When she contemplated this new source of terror, her peace of mind fled
directly. So did her plans for philanthropic labor. Not a shred
remained. The anxiety began to tell upon her, and she took to peering
out of a certain shaded window that commanded the square in front of
he