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Автор: Charles Dickens

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The floor was examined very carefully under the inscription, and,
in the earth beneath a stone, or tile, or some fragment of
paving, were found the ashes of a paper, mingled with the ashes
of a small leathern case or bag. What the unknown prisoner had
written will never be read, but he had written something, and
hidden it away to keep it from the gaoler."
"My father," exclaimed Lucie, "you are ill!"
He had suddenly started up, with his hand to his head. His manner
and his look quite terrified them all.
"No, my dear, not ill. There are large drops of rain falling, and
they made me start. We had better go in."

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