When they were gone, the gaoler looked with the utmost interest and sorrow upon the unhappy girl left in his custody; and well he might, for it was the father of Eudora whose kind efforts had procured his appointment to the office which he now held.
He went to a small cupboard in the wall, and poured out a glass of sherry, which he brought to her, and with paternal kindness compelled her to drink.
The generous wine certainly called back the ebbing tide of her life, and when Mr. Anderson saw this, he said:
“Do not be too much cast down, Miss Leaton. Hope for the best. Meantime, while you are left in my charge, I will try to make your confinement as easy as I can, consistently with my duty and your safe keeping.”
“I thank you,” breathed Eudora, in a low voice, and with a slightly surprised look; for the poor child’s abstract idea of gaolers had been that they were terrible, avenging demons, having indeed the shape of men, but being set aside from common human nature by reason of their odious office. And to see in this dreaded monster a benevolent little man, who spoke gently and acted kindly, was a new revelation.
“And now I will take you to your cell, where at least you may lie down and take the rest that you seem to need so much. I will make you as comfortable as circumstances will admit; and as you are not here for punishment, but only to await your trial, you may be allowed many privileges that are denied to those who are confined for offences.”
“I thank you,” again sighed the poor girl, whose tortured brain could shape no other form of reply, and whose aching heart could take no interest in the minor comforts or discomforts of her situation, while the appalling calamity of her approaching trial and probable fate stared her in the face.
But she arose and followed the gaoler, who led her back into the hall, up a flight of steep stone stairs, and along a narrow corridor flanked each side by grated doors.
About midway down the length of this corridor, he paused and unlocked a door on the right hand, and led his prisoner into a stone cell, very small but very clean, having a grated window at the back, and furnished with a cot-bed, and a wooden stand and chair.
“I place you here,” said Mr. Anderson, “because the window looks down upon the prison garden and out over the heath, so that your eyes may travel though your feet may not. And now sit down, if you please, while I take off those handcuffs.”