"All right, ain't it?" questioned the boy.
"Yes," replied Hester. "It's from Will. How did you come by it, Davy?"
"John Wheeler gave it to me—he's one of the jailers. He said Will was in a sore way about his lass."
A frown gathered on Hester's brow. "I'll go to him," she said. "Thank you, Davy—the letter's all right."
The boy nodded and vanished, and Hester, taking up her basket, went slowly downstairs.
At twelve o'clock that day she stood by Will's side in his dreary little cell. She was allowed to see him for a few minutes without the presence of a third person. Will had lost somewhat of his bronze; his face was thin and pale; and Hester, going up to him, and clasping his hands, was about to burst forth into a distressful wail at his changed appearance, when he stopped her.
"We ha' no time, Hetty. I know just what your heart's full of, but it's all about Bet we must talk. The time's all too short, and I'm bound hand-and-foot here, and can do nought. See, Hetty-I had a letter from my lass."
"I know, Will; but it ain't worth your while to fret for her. I know she has gived you up for that Dent fellow; and ef she, what thought to call you mate, can wed with one like him-why, let her, I say. I'm sorry as you're pained, Will; but don't let's waste the minutes talking about one like Bet Granger."
"Hush," said Will. "You say false words, Hetty-I'm 'shamed of you."
Will's blue eyes flashed.