r known; was flattered by his confidence; and felt that
enthusiasm toward him which friendship, when it exists between two
persons of widely different grades, sometimes begets in the inferior.

A week passed on, and then, at the same time and place as before,
Richard was summoned from his fellow-prisoners. He turned pale in spite
of himself, as he rose from the table to meet for the first time, since
disgrace had overwhelmed him, his mother's face.

"Don't give way, my young master," whispered Balfour, good-naturedly,
"for that will only make the old woman fret."

Richard nodded, and followed the warder, who on this occasion led the
way through a different door. "It ain't Mr. Weasel this time," said the
latter, in answer to his look of surprise; "it's a private friend, and
therefore we can't let you have the glass box." He ushered him into what
would have been a stone courtyard, except that it had a roof also of
stone. In the middle of this, running right across it, was a sort of
cage of iron, or rather a passage some six feet broad, shut in on either
side by high iron rails; within this paced an officer of the prison; and
on the other side of it stood a female figure, whom Richard at once
recognized as his mother. It was with this iron cage between them, and
in the presence of an official, that prisoners in Cross Key Jail were
alone permitted to receive the visits of their friends and kinsfolk. It
was no wonder that in an interview under such restrictions, Mr. Weasel
should have recommended caution.

To do Richard justice, however, that was not the reflection that now
passed through his mind. For all his selfish thoughts and calculations,
he had really yearned to cast himself on his mother's breast, and feel
once more her loving arms around him; to whisper in her ever-ready ear
his sorrow for the past, his anxieties for the future; and when he saw
that this was not to be, the heart that he would have poured out before
her seemed to sink and shrink within him. In this material obstacle
between them he seemed to behold a type of the dread doom that was
impending over him--separation from humanity, exclusion from the world
without, a life-long entombment within stone walls. He put his hand and
arm through the bars, mechanically, to touch his mother's fingers, and
when he found he could not reach them, he burst into tears. It was only
by a great effort that Mrs. Yorke could maintain her self-control; but
she, neverthele