The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. Anna passed serenely out. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her.
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