no further 'n I would a fat possum. I am afeard of
his oily tongue. He sot out to hang that poor young gal, and now he is
willing to pay two hundred and fifty dollars to show the court he was a
idjut and a slanderer! I ain't gwine to set down on no such spring gun
as that! Dyce ought to be here. When Mars Lennox turns summersets in
the court, before the judge, I don't want to belong to his circus--but,
oh Lord! If I could only find out which side he raily is on?"

CHAPTER XIII.

During the early stages of her convalescence, Beryl, though perfectly
rational, asked no questions, made no reference to her gloomy
surroundings and maintained a calm, but mournful taciturnity, very
puzzling to Mrs. Singleton, who ascribed it at first to mental
prostration, which rendered her comparatively obtuse; but ere long, a
different solution presented itself, and she marvelled at the silence
with which a desperate battle was fought. With returning consciousness,
the prisoner had grasped the grievous burden of her fate, unflinchingly
lifted and bound it upon her shoulders; and though she reeled and bent
under it, made no moan, indulged no regret, uttered no invective.

One cold dismal day, when not a rift was visible in the leaden sky, and
a slanting gray veil of sleety rain darkened the air and pelted the
dumb, shivering earth, Beryl sat on the side of her cot, with her feet
resting on the round of a chair, and her hands clasped at the back of
her head. Her eyes remarkably large from the bluish circles illness had
worn beneath them, were fixed in a strained, unwinking, far-away gaze
upon the window, where black railing showed the outside world as
through some grim St. Lawrence's gridiron.

From time to time the warden's wife glanced from her sewing toward the
motionless figure, reluctant to obtrude upon her revery, yet equally
loath to leave her a prey to melancholy musing. After a while, she saw
the black lashes quiver, and fall upon the waxen cheeks, then, as she
watched, great tears glittered, rolled slowly, dripped softly, but
there was no sigh, no sound of sobs. Leaning closer, she laid her arm
across the girl's knee.

"What is it, dearie? Tell me."

There was no immediate reply; when Beryl spoke, her voice was calm, low
and measured, as in one where all the springs of youth, hope, and
energy are irreparably broken.

"Every Gethsemane has its strengthening Angels. The agony of the Garden
brought them to Christ. I tha