am really doing this secretly. I'm here,
though, safe enough, and wish I were out, of course. Sweetest, you must
be careful how you try to see me at first. You can't do me much service
outside of cheering me up, and you may do yourself great harm. Besides,
I think I have done you far more harm than I can ever make up to you and
that you had best give me up, although I know you do not think so, and
I would be sad, if you did. I am to be in the Court of Special Pleas,
Sixth and Chestnut, on Friday at two o'clock; but you cannot see me
there. I'll be out in charge of my counsel. You must be careful. Perhaps
you'll think better, and not come here.

This last touch was one of pure gloom, the first Cowperwood had ever
introduced into their relationship but conditions had changed him.
Hitherto he had been in the position of the superior being, the one
who was being sought--although Aileen was and had been well worth
seeking--and he had thought that he might escape unscathed, and so grow
in dignity and power until she might not possibly be worthy of him
any longer. He had had that thought. But here, in stripes, it was a
different matter. Aileen's position, reduced in value as it was by her
long, ardent relationship with him, was now, nevertheless, superior to
his--apparently so. For after all, was she not Edward Butler's daughter,
and might she, after she had been away from him a while, wish to become
a convict's bride. She ought not to want to, and she might not want to,
for all he knew; she might change her mind. She ought not to wait
for him. Her life was not yet ruined. The public did not know, so he
thought--not generally anyhow--that she had been his mistress. She might
marry. Why not, and so pass out of his life forever. And would not that
be sad for him? And yet did he not owe it to her, to a sense of fair
play in himself to ask her to give him up, or at least think over the
wisdom of doing so?

He did her the justice to believe that she would not want to give him
up; and in his position, however harmful it might be to her, it was an
advantage, a connecting link with the finest period of his past life,
to have her continue to love him. He could not, however, scribbling this
note in his cell in Wingate's presence, and giving it to him to mail
(Overseer Chapin was kindly keeping a respectful distance, though he was
supposed to be present), refrain from adding, at the last moment, this
little touch of doubt which, when s