"None at all. I hate him; he has brought me to this! And he deceived me about the black woman's death and nearly frightened me into illness. Ah! the beast!" exclaimed Faustina, with a vehemence of spite that quite astounded her visitor.
"My dear," she said, after she had in some degree recovered her composure and collected her faculties, "that there is something very dreadful in this arrest no one can doubt; some charge of kidnaping in which you are both said to be implicated. But let us hope that the charge will be disproved; let us say that it will; in which case, will it be well for you to quarrel with the viscount? Think of it, and send him some kind message."
"I cannot think, and I will not send him any message," persisted
Faustina.
"Then I must think for you. Good-by for a little while, my pet. I will be with you again before I leave town," said Mrs. MacDonald, as she left the cell.
She proceeded immediately to the warden's office, and requested permission to visit the Viscount Vincent in his cell.
"Auld Saundie Gra'am," as he was called, beckoned the turnkey of the ward in which the viscount was confined, and ordered him to conduct the lady to Lord Vincent's cell. The man took down his bunch of keys and, with a bow, turned and preceded Mrs. MacDonald upstairs to a corridor on the second floor, flanked each side with grated doors.
The visitor followed her conductor up the whole length of this corridor to a corner door, which he unlocked to admit the visitor. As soon as she passed in he locked the door on her and remained waiting on the outside.
Mrs. MacDonald found herself in the presence of Lord Vincent. As the cell occupied by the viscount was in the angle of the building it possessed the advantage of two small windows, one with a southern and one with a western outlook. And the sun shone in all day long, giving it a more cheerful aspect than usually belongs to such dreary places. It was furnished with the usual hard narrow bed and rusty iron stove. Besides this, it had the unusual convenience of a chair, upon which the viscount sat, and a table at which he wrote.
In one corner of the cell was old Cuthbert, kneeling down over an open trunk from which he was unpacking his master's effects. As Mrs. MacDonald entered the viscount arose, bowed, and handed her to the solitary chair with as much courtly grace as though he had been doing the honors of his own drawing-room.
"I find you more comfortable, or rather, as I should say, less uncomfortable, than I found Mrs. Dugald, poor child," said the visitor, after she sank into a seat.