old Anna's exclamation of horror and of sympathy, Rose Otway
had flung herself into her nurse's arms, and had lain there shivering
and crying till the sound of the front door opening to admit her mother
had forced her to control herself.

Anna's mind travelled wearily on, guided by reproachful memory through a
maze of painful recollections. Once more she stood watching the strange
marriage ceremony--trying hard, aye, and succeeding, to obey Sir
Jacques's strict injunction. More than one of those present had glanced
over at her, Anna, very kindly during that trying half-hour. How would
they then have looked at her if they had known what she knew now?

She lived again as in long drawn-out throbs of pain the piteous days
which had followed Mr. Blake's operation.

Rose had not allowed herself one word of fret or of repining; but on
three different nights during that first week, she had got out of bed
and wandered about the house, till Anna, hearing the quiet, stuffless
sounds of bare feet, had come out, and leading the girl into the still
warm kitchen, had comforted her.

It was Anna who had spoken to Sir Jacques, and suggested the sleeping
draught which had finally broken that evil waking spell--Anna who, far
more than Rose's own mother, had sustained and heartened the poor child
during those dreadful days of reaction which followed on the brave front
she had shown at the crisis of the operation.

And now Anna had to face the horrible fact that it was she who had
brought this dreadful suffering, this--this lifelong misfortune, on the
being she loved more than she had ever loved anything in the world. If
this was true, and in her heart she knew it to be true, then she did
indeed deserve to hang. A shameful death would be nothing in comparison
to the agony of fearing that her darling might come to learn the truth.

* * * * *

The door of the cell suddenly opened, and a man came in, carrying a tray
in his hands. On it were a jug of coffee, some milk, sugar, bread and
butter, and a plateful of cold meat.

He put it down by the old woman's side. "Look here!" he said. "Your
lady, Mrs. Guthrie as she is now, thought you'd rather have coffee than
tea--so we've managed to get some for you."

And, as Anna burst into loud sobs, "There, there!" he said
good-naturedly. "I daresay you'll be all right--don't you be worrying
yourself." He lowered his voice: "Though there are some as says that
what