Although every precaution was taken to keep the news of Jessie's disappearance from Hubert Varrick, the knowledge soon reached him.
"My God! did I not have enough to bear before," he murmured, "that this new weight of woe has fallen upon me?"
In his sorrow he was thankful that at least one person besides his mother seemed to believe so utterly in his innocence—and that was the butler. He came to see him daily and wept over him, muttering strangely incoherent words, declaring over and over again that he must be proven innocent, though the heavens fell.
"As near as I can see, it will end in a prison cell for life or the gallows," said Hubert, gulping down a sob.
"But they mustn't hang—you shan't hang!" cried the butler, excitedly. "I will—"
The sentence was never finished. He sat back, trembling in every limb, in his seat, his face ashy white, his features working convulsively.
At last the butler came no more to see him, and Hubert heard that he, too, had suddenly disappeared.
The day of the trial dawned clear and bright, without one cloud in the blue azure sky to mar the perfect day. It was a morn dark enough in the history of Hubert Varrick, as he paced up and down the narrow limits of his lonely cell, looking through the grating on the gay, bright world outside.
It did not matter much to him if he left it, he told himself. Suddenly there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and glancing up, Varrick beheld the old butler standing before him.
He greeted the old servant with a wistful smile, and for a moment neither could speak, so great was their emotion.