Mr. Denham begged us to go before him, and his wife led the way to the dining-room.

“Poor fellow!” she whispered, “he suffers horribly when he moves, and I tried to persuade him to have his dinner sent into the parlor, but in honor of your presence he will come, and he doesn’t want us to see him wince and writhe under the effort.”

Just as we entered the dining-room a young man came in by another door, carrying a tray with dishes.  I had seen plenty of Chinamen, but this was not one, nor could I reconcile his appearance with the position of a servant.  He was tall, well-made, and his face, though unnaturally pale, was decidedly good-looking.  He wore a pair of coarse gray pantaloons with a remarkable stripe down one leg, but had on a beautifully clean and fine, white shirt fastened at the throat with a diamond button.  The weather was warm, and he was without coat or vest, and had a sash of red knitted silk, such as Mexicans wear, round his middle.

Ruth took the dishes from him and placed them on the table.  “Please tell Wang-Ho about the coffee, Lester,” she said as he retired.

“Is that man a servant, Ruth?” I asked in an astonished whisper.

“No,” she replied in the same low tone:  “he is a murderer condemned for life.”

Mr. Denham hobbled in and slid down upon a seat.  I appreciated his gallant attention, but it was painful to see the effort it cost:  besides, much as I had seen, and familiar as I was becoming with pioneer life, to be waited on at dinner by a young and handsome murderer condemned to prison for life was a sensation new and startling, and I was full of curiosity as to the nature of his crime and the peculiar administration of the Western penal code that made house-servants of convicts.  Seeing my perturbation, Ruth evidently intended to relieve it by the explanatory remark of “He is a ‘trusty,’ Jenny dear,” but really threw no light whatever on the subject.

It was a very nice dinner, served tastefully and with a home comfort about everything connected with the table that seemed most unlike a prison.  Mr. Denham’s intelligence and cheerfulness added to the delusion that I was enjoying the hospitalities of a cultivated Eastern home.  He and his wife had kept themselves thoroughly familiar with all topics of general interest through the medium of periodicals, and had much to ask about the actual progress of improvements they had read of and the changes occurring among dear and familiar Eastern scenes.

Lester came in again with the empty tray, and quietly gathered the plates from the table preparatory to placing dessert.  I wanted to look at him—­indeed, a fascination I could not resist drew my eyes to his face like a magnet—­yet, somehow, I dared not keep them there:  the consciousness of meeting his glance, and feeling that I should then be ashamed of my curiosity, made them drop uneasily every time he turned; and once when I found his gaze rest on me an instant, I felt myself color violently under the quiet look of his steel-gray eyes.