“Perhaps they’re not allowed to. But my father and Captain Sartoris will be here presently.”
“Indeed! It’s very kind of them.”
“But, you see, we don’t believe you’re guilty; we think you’ll be able to prove your innocence at the trial.”
Conversation goes but tamely when a prison warder dwells on every word. The two stood in the centre of the cell, Jack holding tightly the girl’s right hand, while with her left she held the basket. Withdrawing her hand from his ardent clasp, she placed the roses on the bench and uncovered the dainties which the basket contained. There being no table on which to place them, she spread the napkin on the bench, and laid the delicacies upon it.
“I am allowed to come every other day,” she said, “and next time I hope to bring my father with me. He’s engaged to-day with a ship.”
“I never saw the men after they passed me on the track. I never did this thing.”
Rose took his hand in hers, and gently pressed it. “If you don’t wish to hurt me, you will not speak about it. At home we agree to say nothing. We hear all sorts of things, but we keep silent—it makes it hurt less.”
“You still have faith in me?”
“Why not?”
“Do others take that view?”