ve by which I meant to assure him all
was well, however ill it seemed--You _did_ see it; I see you did. You do
believe me. Oh, thank Heaven--thank Heaven!"

She began to sob and cry, and caught hold of the old woman's hand and
kissed it, while the other stood silent, still in doubt.

"Oh, madam, pity me. That you have suffered torments for long years is
plain to see, and yet you have not, though he was your son, been
tortured as I have. You could not have freed him by a word as I could;
and oh, I did not utter it! I seemed to be his judge, his jailer, the
cause of all his woes, to the man I loved--and loved beyond all others!
I hated my own father for his sake. I"--she shuddered--"I was married to
Richard's rival. You at least have been alone, not companioned night and
day by one who helped to doom him. Your case is hard and bitter--but
mine! not our own Richard, in his chains and toil, has suffered what _I_
have suffered! Look at me, madam, and tell me if I speak truth or lie."

"Yes, yes," mused Mrs. Yorke, in tender tones, and passing her fingers
over the other's silvering hair and haggard face; "I do--I must believe
it. I should not have known you to-day had you not called me by my name.
You must have mourned for him indeed. Is this the cheek he loved to
kiss? Is this the hair a lock of which I took to comfort him in prison?
Poor soul--poor soul!"

"How is he, madam?" whispered Harry, hoarsely. "Is he well? Is he free?"

"Not yet, Harry. In a year hence he will be. I had a letter only
yesterday. But you must never see him; and if you really love him--I
speak it for his sake, not theirs--you must never let him set eyes on
your husband or your boy."

"I do not wish to see him; it would be too terrible to bear," groaned
Harry.

"But he must not see _them_," insisted the other, gravely. "You must put
the sea between yourselves and him, or there will be murder done. His
wrath is terrible, and will be the destruction of both them and him. The
hope of vengeance is the food he lives upon, and without which he would
have perished years ago. Even if you persuaded him, as you have
convinced _me_, that you yourself are innocent of his ruin, that would
only make him firmer in his purpose against your husband. He will have
his life-blood, and then his own will pay for it. If I had not seen you,
I meant to see this man, and give him warning six months before Richard
left the prison."

"Solomon would never heed it," exclai