nestly, is there any, even the least
probability, of finding out anything to your advantage?"

"Well," replied Henry Dornham, "I am a ne'er-do-well by nature. I was an
idle boy, an idle youth, and an idle man. I poached when I had a chance.
I lived on my wife's earnings. I went to the bad as deliberately as any
one in the world did, but I do not remember that I ever told a willful
lie."

There passed through Lord Arleigh's mind a wish that the Duchess of
Hazlewood might have heard this avowal.

"I do not remember," the man said again, "that I have ever told a
willful lie in my life. I will not begin now. You asked me if I was
really guilty. Yes, I was--guilty just as my judges pronounced me to
be!"

For a few minutes Lord Arleigh was silent; the disappointment was almost
greater than he could bear. He had anticipated so much from this
interview; and now by these deliberately spoken words his hopes were
ended--he would never be able to take his beautiful young wife to his
heart and home. The bitterness of the disappointment seemed almost
greater than he could bear. He tried to recover himself, while Henry
Dornham went on:

"The rich never have anything to do with the poor without harm comes of
it. Why did they send me to the duke's house? Why did be try to
patronize me? Why did he parade his gold and silver plate before my
eyes?"

The passion of his words seemed to inflame him.

"Why," he continued angrily, should he eat from silver while others were
without bread? Why should his wife wear diamonds while mine cried with
hunger and cold? I saw how unjust it was. Who placed his foot on my
neck? Who made him my master and tyrant, patronizing me with his 'my
good fellow' this and the other? What right had he to such abundance
while I had nothing?"

"That which was his," said Lord Arleigh, bluntly, "at least was not
yours to take."

"But I say it was! I helped myself before, and, if I were out of this
place, having the chance, I would help myself again."

"That would be equally criminal," said Lord Arleigh, fearlessly and
again Henry Dornham laughed his cynical laugh.

"It is too late in the day for me to talk over these matters," said the
convict. "When I roamed in the woods as a free man, I had my own ideas;
prison has not improved them. I shall never make a reformed convict--not
even a decent ticket-of-leave man. So if you have any thought of
reclaiming me, rid your mind of it at once."

"It will be best t