Lady Helena kissed her quietly and turned to go.
"Keep up heart," she said; "before the week ends you shall be free."
Two days later, Lady Helena and the warden of Chesholm jail sat closeted together in deep and mysterious conference. On the table between them lay a crossed check for seven thousand pounds.
The jailor sat with knitted brows and troubled, anxious face. He had been for years a servant in Lady Helena's family. Her influence had procured him his present situation. He had a sick wife and a large family, and seven thousand pounds was an immense temptation.
"You risk nothing," Lady Helena was saying, in an agitated whisper, "and you gain everything. They will blame you for nothing worse than carelessness in the discharge of your duty. You may lose your situation. Very well, lose it. Here are seven thousand pounds for you. In all your life, grubbing here, you would never accumulate half or quarter that sum. You can remove to London; trust to my influence to procure you a better situation there than this. And oh, think of her—young, guiltless—think what her life has been, think what it is now destined to be. She is innocent—I swear it. You have daughters of your own, about her age—think of them and yield!"
He stretched forth his hand and answered, resolutely:
"Say no more, my lady. Let good or ill betide—I'll do it."
The issue of the Chesholm Courier four days later contained a paragraph that created the profoundest excitement from end to end of the town. We quote it:
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