“My husband is quite ill with sciatica, which completely lames him, as well as causing him intense pain.  I am his only attendant, or I would fly to you at once, my dearest Jenny.  I am so sorry you leave by the midnight train for San Francisco to-morrow, but must be content to see you as much of the day as you can spare us, and hope for a longer visit on your return.  We dine at four:  may I not send the carriage for you as early as two o’clock?

    “Your loving friend,

    “RUTH DENHAM.”

I had my aunt’s permission to leave her, and was ready at the appointed hour to find the carriage there to the minute; and a very comfortable, easy conveyance it proved over one of the worst roads I ever traveled on.

The prison was about a mile from the outskirts of the straggling town, which boasted two or three fine State buildings, in strong contrast with its scattering and mostly mean and shambling dwellings.  Some hot springs had been discovered near the site, and over them had been erected a wooden hotel and baths of the simplest order of architecture and on the barest possible plan of ornament or comfort.  Just beyond this edifice was the prison, situated at the rise of one hill and under the shadow of another and more considerable one.  It was built of a softish, light-colored stone dug from a neighboring quarry, as the driver told me, and looking even at a cursory glance too destructible and crumbling to secure such desperate and determined inmates.

“They used to keep ’em in a sort o’ wooden shed,” said my driver, alluding to the prisoners, “until they got this shebang fixed up.  Pretty smart lot of chaps they were, for they built it themselves mostly, and made good time on it, too.”

It was surrounded by a high wooden fence, within which a stone wall of the same material as the building was in course of construction.

“If it wasn’t Sunday,” said my companion as we drove through the guarded gate, “you could see ’em at work, for they’re putting up their defences, and doing it first-rate, too.”

I had only time for a glance at the inside of the enclosure.  We were already at the principal entrance, which was a wide door opening into a hall, with a staircase leading up to the second floor.  On the right hand was a strongly-grated iron door opening into the main corridor between the cells:  the other side seemed to be devoted to offices and quarters for the guards.  I saw knots of men about, but only the two at the entrance appeared to be armed, and they had that lounging, easy air, that belongs to security and the absence of thought.  It was in every respect opposite to my preconceived idea of a penitentiary, and all recollection of its first design fled when I saw Ruth’s cheery face, bright and handsome as ever, beaming on me from the first landing, and felt her warm, firm arms clasping me in an embrace of affectionate welcome.  It was my friend’s home, and nothing else, from that moment,