"Is there any message, ma'am, to take back to Mr. Tracy?" asked the boy; "'cos I shall see him the first thing in the morning."
"You may say that I will do as he desires," answered Cecilia: "but beware how you mention to a soul that you have been here. Forget my name as if you had never heard it."
"Yes, ma'am—to be sure," replied the boy; "and thank'ee kindly."
He then pocketed the money, and took his departure.
"Newgate, Newgate!" thought Lady Cecilia, when she was once more alone: "there is something chilling—menacing—awful in that name! And yet I must penetrate into those gloomy cells to see—whom? A murderer! Oh! who would have thought that the rich, the handsome, the renowned, the courted, the flattered rector of St. David's would become an inmate of Newgate? A murderer! Ah—my God, the mere idea is horrible! And that uncouth boy who said coolly that he was certain to be hanged! Reginald—Reginald, to what have you come? Would it not have been better to dare exposure—contumely—infamy—reproach, than to risk such an appalling alternative? But reputation was dearer to this man than aught in the world beside! And he is rich:—what will he do with his wealth? Perhaps it is for that he desires my presence? Who knows?"
This idea determined Lady Cecilia upon visiting Newgate on the following day.
She did not reflect that she herself was the first link in that chain which had so rapidly wound itself around the unhappy man, until it paralysed his limbs in a criminal gaol. She often asked herself how he could have been so mad as to commit the deed that menaced him with the most terrible fate; but beyond the abstract event itself she never thought of looking.
The morning dawned; Lady Cecilia rose, and dressed herself in as unpretending a manner as possible.
At half-past nine she went out, took a cab at the nearest stand, and proceeded to Newgate.
She ascertained, by inquiry, which was the prison entrance, and ascended the steps leading to the half-door, the top of which was garnished with long iron spikes.