"You mean——"
"I mean that he's with us at Brunford, Paul. He's at your house. He has been working night and day, and, and——"
The warder opened the door. "This way, please, Miss!"
"Don't give up, Paul!" she cried. "And remember this, I'm working and praying for you, and father is working and praying for you. It may—oh! it may end in nothing; and I dare not say more, but Paul, Paul——"
Again Paul was alone. Mary's kisses were still warm upon his lips. He felt her breath upon his face. Her presence pervaded the room even although she was gone—Mary, whom he loved like his own life! It was not as though his sister had been to see him at all. It was still Mary, the woman he loved as his wife!
Day followed day, and no further news reached him. Eagerly he had listened to every echoing footstep in the corridor. Feverishly he had watched the face of the warder who had brought him food. Like one who had hoped against hope, he had at stated times scanned the faces of other prisoners when he had been allowed to go for exercise into the prison yard. But he heard nothing, saw nothing which could give him hope.
One night the chaplain entered his cell, and Paul saw, from the look on the man's face, of what he was thinking.
"It's to be to-morrow, isn't it?" he said.
The chaplain nodded and was silent.
"What o'clock is it now?"