e knife, looked up at her, and suddenly came from
behind the stand:

"You're not well?" pushing a seat toward her. "Here's some water. Or
coffee?"

She sat down: "Oh, it's nothing. Only I've traveled a long way, and I
did not know it was a prison I was coming to."

"Won't you have some coffee? You don't look rugged."

"No, thank you."

"Well, it's not what you've been used to, of course. But hot." He
put the water within her reach and drew aside, looking at her now and
then. He was used to the pale faces and tears of women at that gate.
"Though she's different from them as has friends here," he thought,
silencing one or two noisy customers by a look. Presently he came up
to her: "You're afeard to go in there alone, young lady?"

"Yes, I am. What shall I do?"

"I thought as much. Yonder comes the chaplain. I'll speak to him,"
going to meet two gentlemen who crossed the street.

"You wished to see a prisoner?" one of them said, coming up to her.

Kitty was herself again. She stood up and bowed with her
old-fashioned, grave politeness: "I do not know. It was this that
brought me here," handing him the telegram.

"Ah? I remember," glancing at it. "Number 243 sent it, you recollect?"
to his companion. "But this is addressed to Hugh Guinness?" turning
inquiringly to Kitty.

"I am a--a member of his family. He was not at home, and I came to
receive the message for him."

"Will you go in with us, doctor?" The chaplain turned to his
companion.

"Presently. There is a man coming up the street I want to see."

The chaplain motioned her to follow him, casting a curious glance back
at her. They passed up into the long stone corridors, tier over tier,
with the lines of square iron doors, each with its slate dangling
outside, with a name scrawled on it. He stopped at one, opened it and
drew back, motioning her to enter.

Kitty caught sight of the damp wall of a cell, and stopped.

"Shall I go in with you?" seeing her shiver.

"No: Mr. Guinness might wish the message kept as private as possible."

"It is very probable. The prisoner is very ill, or you could not have
a private interview."

She went in, and the door closed behind her. It was a moment before
she could distinguish any object in the dimly lighted cell. Then she
saw the square window, the cobwebbed walls, and close at hand a narrow
pallet, on which lay a woman in a coarse and soiled night-dress.
She was tall and gaunt: one arm was thrown over her hea