“What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. The Chapel. ‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high.
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