rly tomorrow; one of the grooms shall drive
you over to meet the coach which runs to Exeter. While I think of it,
take my purse, and do not spare it, Mary; for money must not be thought
of now. I am very unwell, and must go to bed."

"I had better bring up the tray, madam; a mouthful and a glass of wine
will be of service to you."

"Do so, dear Mary; I feel very faint."

As soon as Mrs Austin had taken some refreshment, she entered again
into conversation with Mary, asking her a hundred questions about her
son. Mary, who had now nothing to conceal, answered freely; and when
Mary wished her good night, Mrs Austin was more than ever convinced
that her boy's rectitude of principle would have made him an ornament to
society. Then came the bitter feeling that he was about to sacrifice
himself; that he would be condemned as a felon, disgraced, and perhaps
executed; and as she turned on her restless pillow, she exclaimed,
"Thank God that he is innocent--his poor father suffers more."

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

IN WHICH MARY MAKES A DISCOVERY OF WHAT HAS BEEN LONG KNOWN TO THE
READER.

It was hardly ten o'clock on the second morning when Mary arrived at
Exeter, and proceeded to the gaol. Her eyes were directed to the
outside of the massive building, and her cheeks blanched when she viewed
the chains and fetters over the entrance, so truly designating the
purport of the structure. There were several people at the steps and in
the passage, making inquiries, and demanding permission of the turnkey
to visit the prisoners; and Mary had to wait some minutes before she
could make her request. Her appearance was so different to the usual
class of applicants, that the turnkey looked at her with some surprise.

"Whom do you wish to see?" inquired the man, for Mary's voice had
faltered.

"Joseph Rushbrook, my brother," repeated Mary.

At this moment the head gaoler came to the wicket.

"She wishes to see her brother, young Rushbrook," said the turnkey.

"Yes, certainly," replied the gaoler; "walk in, and sit down in the
parlour for a little while, till I can send a man with you."

There was a gentleness and kindness of manner shown by both the men
towards Mary, for they were moved with her beauty and evident distress.
Mary took a seat in the gaoler's room; the gaoler's wife was there, and
she was more than kind. The turnkey came to show her to the cell; and
when Mary rose, the gaoler's wife said to her, "After you hav