"You must not remain here," he said. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. Sheppard in a troubled voice, "that if I lost my child, I should lose all I have left in the world. Here, without a glimpse of daylight; visited by no one except Austin at stated intervals, who neither answered a question nor addressed a word to him; fed upon the worst diet, literally mouldy bread and ditch-water; surrounded by stone walls; with a flagged floor for his pillow, and without so much as a blanket to protect him from the death-like cold that pierced his frame,—Jack's stout heart was subdued, and he fell into the deepest dejection, ardently longing for the time when even a violent death should terminate his sufferings.
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