“In what?” she asked, shaking him in her impatience. “I wish you would say something that could be understood.”
“He’s locked up in jail. Down in Moya. Took up for smuggling out of the custom-house.”
Sick at heart on hearing this sudden confirmation of her worst fears, Jennie staggered back to her chair, seating herself heavily, as if a great weight had been laid upon her shoulders.
Will looked on in unwonted surprise, a faint suspicion struggling through his brain that he had gone too far. A revulsion came upon him as he saw her sink back pale and helpless, in her chair.
“Why, Jennie,” he cried, with a show of emotion, “hope I haven’t hurt your feelin’s? Didn’t calculate that you keered that much for the man. Don’t be so worried. Guess he’ll come out all right.”
“Is it really so?” she asked, in a low, frightened tone. “Is he really in prison?”
“Yes,” said Will. “But he won’t stay there, so don’t you worry. We’ll get him out. I’ll go bail for him myself.”
She smiled sadly at Will’s idea of going bail.
“Now hold your head up, Jennie,” said Will, putting his arm round her with a movement of boyish sympathy. “It’s a pity I hadn’t better sense; a feller that’s been around like me. But I’ve been kicked up among boys. Dunno much about gals.”
“There, Will, I do not blame you,” she said, rising with a proud gesture, as if she had thrown off all weakness. “He is innocent. I know that. It is not possible that innocence can suffer the penalty of guilt.”