"The doctor wouldn't have him moved," he said, opening a closed door in a long passage full of doors, the rest of which stood open. "It's not reg'lar to have him in here, sir, I know; but the doctor wouldn't have him moved."
Charles passed through the door, and found himself in a narrow whitewashed cell, with a bed at one side, over which an old woman in the dress of a hospital nurse was bending.
"You can come out, Martha," said the warden. "The gentleman's come to see 'im."
As the old woman disappeared, courtesying, he lingered to say, in a whisper, "Do you know him, sir?"
"Yes," said Charles, looking fixedly at the figure on the bed. "I remember him. I knew him years ago, in his better days. I dare say he will have something to tell me."
"If it should be anything as requires a witness," continued the man—"he's said a deal already, and it's all down in proper form—but if there's anything more——"
"I will let you know," said Charles, looking towards the door, and the warden took the hint and went out of it, closing it quietly.
Charles crossed the little room, and, sitting down in the crazy chair beside the bed, laid his hand gently on the listless hand lying palm upward on the rough gray counterpane.
"Raymond," he said; "it is I, Danvers."
The hand trembled a little, and made a faint attempt to clasp his. Charles took the cold, lifeless hand, and held it in his strong gentle grasp.