"No, Harry, no!" answered the other, putting aside those rich brown locks, and gazing upon the fair shut face attentively. "I do not wonder at his loving you; for such beauty as yours many a man would lose his soul! I did hate you until now. But you love my Richard truly, as I see; and we two can not afford to be enemies. We must work together for his good to avert the ruin of which you speak, for it is imminent. He has sent me to you, for he can not come himself. He is in prison, Harry!"
"In prison! O Heaven, have mercy!"
She sank down on her knees, and covered her face with her hands.
"Yes, Harry, think of it. Our Richard, so bright, so dear, within prison walls! He may pass his life there for what he has done for your sake, unless you help him."
"Help him? I would die for him!"
"Calm yourself. Sit down. To grieve is selfish where one can do better; when all is lost it is time enough for that. All will be lost a fortnight hence, unless we bestir ourselves. Hush! I hear a step in the passage. Who is that?"
"It is Sol, madam—Solomon Coe."
"The man you are to marry, is it not?"
A stifled groan was the girl's reply.
"I can not speak what I have to say here," said the other, thoughtfully. "Is there no other place? Stay. I can be ill—overfatigued with my journey—and you will come and tend me in my own room presently. That can be managed, can't it?"