The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it. "Mutual concessions," she added. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town. Her husband finally relented. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. Of you, I mean. All the same, I don’t admit it.
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