“A visitor to see you, Capt’n. Will you come to the parlor?” The messenger was the old Sergeant, O’Meara, whom Thurston had placed in charge of the prison.
Steve, after a moment, left his cell and walked slowly through the corridor to the apartment adjoining the jailer’s quarters, which was dignified by the name of parlor. It was lighted by a small lamp, the rays of which hardly reached the walls. The room was empty. But Steve could hear from the voices that there were two persons in the next room. He walked to the open window and waited, with his head resting on his arm against the bars. The same reverie from which he had been aroused returned.
The door behind him opened and closed softly.
“Captain Allen!” said a faint voice. Steve turned.
“Miss Welch!” He stood dumbfounded. Before him, with her veil only half thrown back, was Ruth Welch. She stood just inside the door, motionless as though planted on the spot; and, as Steve did not move, the whole space of the room was between them. Her eyes, which she lifted for a second to Steve’s face, fell.
“Captain Allen,” she began, and then faltered. After a second, however, with an effort she began again.
“I have come to see you; to see—to see if there is nothing I can do to—to help you?”
At the words, Steve’s heart hardened.
“No, thank you, there is nothing,” he said. His voice was hard and unnatural. She made a movement, almost as if she shrank back. But she began again, speaking very slowly and painfully:
“I do not know what to say. But I want—I want to see if there is nothing——?” She broke off, but began again: “You don’t know how deeply—how terribly—I——” Her voice failed her. She stopped and wrung her hands. “Is there nothing—nothing I can do?”