"Jacob Phelps sent for me. Is it possible for me to see him now?" he said rapidly, striving in vain to hide his anxiety.
The jailer held his lantern close to Sargent's face, and inspected him slowly.
"Have you an order from the sheriff?" he asked.
"No."
"It's against rules. I can't let you in."
"I know it is irregular, but this is my only chance to see him. I am going away early in the morning. I only want to speak a few words with him. My name is Sargent Everett—"
"The lawyer that made the speech to-day!" the jailer exclaimed. "Well, sir, it's an honour to know you. I never heard tell of a speech like the one you made, sir. No wonder Phelps wanted to see you."
Sargent turned away quickly to hide the look of suffering on his face. Was he never to hear the end of that speech! Would it go down to the grave with him! Suddenly he remembered his words to Judge Houston—"It will be the speech of my life." Ah! verily it was so!
"Will you let me see him?" he asked again.
"Well—" the fellow debated. "I reckon it'll be all right since it's you, Mr. Everett. But it's against rules, you know."