She laughed uneasily; she could not tell him now.
"I hope you do not connect me with the lady in question?"
"No, of course not. How absurd! But still it is strange—the name is uncommon," he said.
"I suppose you never saw his brother at the prison?"
"I did—I wish I had not."
"Did he look very ill, broken down?"
"He was a terrible wreck. He suffered awful agony, of mind more than body. I never saw such a change in a man in my life. When I knew Hector Woodridge he was a fine, well set up, handsome man, in the army, a soldier's career before him. The breakdown was complete; it made me suffer to look at him. I never went again and I do not think he wanted it. If ever a man was living in hell upon earth he was; the wonder is it did not kill him."
"How terrible!" she said.
"I wonder if the woman suffers? He did it on her account. I do not believe he is guilty—I am certain he is not. His brother believes in his innocence, so does Captain Bruce, and all his friends. I believe it is the knowledge that he is innocent sustains him in his awful life; he told me he hoped one day to prove his innocence, but that his lips were sealed, he could not speak. I told him that was foolish, that it was due to himself to speak, but he shook his head and said, 'Impossible!'"
"Is it a very terrible place at Dartmoor?"