"Yes, I know," said young Otis, remarking the painful expression that came and went on that withered face. "I have been to the prison!"
"Did you see him? Did they let you in?" exclaimed Mrs. Warren, beginning to tremble. "Oh! tell me how he was—did he miss me very much? Was he anxious about his poor wife?"
"I was too early—they did not let me in," replied the young man, bending a pair of fine eyes, full of noble compassion, on the old woman; "but I learned from one of the keepers that your husband was more composed than persons usually are the first night of confinement."
The old woman sunk back to her seat, with an air of meek disappointment.
"And Julia, my grandchild—did you inquire about her?"
Robert's countenance changed; there was something unsteady in his voice, as he replied; it seemed embarrassed with some tender recollection.
"I saw her!"
"You saw her! How did she look?—what did she say?"
"I got admission to speak with Mrs. Foster, the matron, a fine, pleasant woman, you will be glad to know; but it was early for visitors, and I only saw your grand-daughter through the grating."
"Was she ill?—was she crying?—did she look pale?"