no hopes on the subject. She felt in her soul that he was
guilty. The loquacity of honest Ben pained her, and in order to keep him
silent, she remained silent herself, until they reached the metropolitan
town of the county, in which the assizes were always held, which was not
until late in the evening.

She could gain no admittance within the gaol that night, and Sophy put
up at a small but neat public house near at hand. From the widow who
kept the house, she heard that the assizes were to be held the following
week, and that there was no doubt but what the prisoner, Noah Cotton,
would be found guilty of murder. But her son, who was the gaoler,
thought it more than probable that he would cheat the hangman, as he had
scarcely tasted food since he had been in prison. Mrs. Cotton then
informed the widow that she was the wife of the prisoner, and confided
to her enough of her history to create for her a strong interest in the
breast of the good woman. She did not fail to convey the same feeling
with regard to Sophia to her son, who promised her an early interview
with her husband on the following morning, and to do all for her and him
that lay in his power.

Cheered with this promise, the weary traveller retired to her chamber,
and slept soundly. Before six o'clock in the morning, she found herself
in the presence of her husband.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE MEETING.

"My husband! my dear husband! and it was my imprudence that brought you
to this!" cried Sophy, as she fell weeping upon the neck of the felon,
clasping him in her arms, and kissing with passionate grief the tears
from his haggard unshaven face.

"Hush! my precious lamb," he replied, folding her in his embrace. "It
was not you who betrayed me, it was the voice of God speaking through a
guilty conscience. I am thankful!--oh, so thankful that it has taken
place--that the dreadful secret is known at last! I enjoyed last night
the first quiet sleep I have known for years--slept without being
haunted by him!"

"And with death staring you in the face, Noah?"

"What is death, Sophy, to the agonies I have endured?--the fear of
detection by day--the eyes of the dead glaring upon me all night? No; I
feel happy, in comparison, now. I have humbled myself to the dust--have
wept and prayed for pardon, and oh, my sweet wife, I trust I am
forgiven--have found peace!"

"When was this?" whispered Sophy.

"The night before last."

"How strange!" murmured Sophy. "We