A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. A brief description will suffice for them. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project.
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