And the gray-haired woman, whose pride it had been to display her beautiful wares to her friends and others, was all alone in a grave far up on the hill—­a hill which looked down on Colchester—­which looked down on the very store itself.

All of this James Darcy saw, and more.

There was a brisker step along the flagged corridor in front of the cells of “murderers’ row.”  Half a dozen men, and one woman, against whom such a charge had been made—­Darcy among them—­looked up with an interest they had not shown before.  Did it mean a visitor for any of them?  Did it mean their lawyer was coming to bid them cheer up, or to tell them it looked black for their chances?

The step was that of the keeper of the outer gate—­the larger and more massively barred gate which gave entrance to the anteroom where, on visiting days, even those charged with the highest degree of crime were permitted to see their friends, relatives or counsel.

“Some one to see you, Darcy!” called the keeper.

There was the clang of the lock mechanism, and the door swung open.  Darcy’s eyes brightened, those of the others in the same tier of cells with him which, for the moment had lighted up, grew dull again.

“My lawyer?” asked Darcy.

“Yes.  And there’s a lady with him.”

“A lady?”

“Yes.  Come on!”

Darcy caught sight of Amy before she saw him, for he approached from behind a line of other prisoners exercising in the space before their cells.  She was with Kenneth.

“Amy!” exclaimed Darcy, as he was allowed to step out into the anteroom, closely followed by a keeper, while a detective from the prosecutor’s office stood near.  “Amy!” and his eyes flowed.

“Jimmie boy!”

To the eternal credit of the keeper and the detective be it said that, at this moment, they found something of great interest in the calendar that hung on the opposite wall, while Kenneth talked earnestly with the warden.  And the prisoners beyond the barred door were too busy with their exercise to look around.

“Jimmie boy!”

“Amy!  You—­you don’t—­”

“Of course I don’t!  Didn’t I tell you so in my letter?”

“Yes, but—­”

“Now, that isn’t the way to talk, especially when I have come to bring you good news.”

“Good news?  You mean your father—­”

“Oh, it isn’t about dad!  I told you he was as firm a believer in you as I am—­that he said he’d ‘go the limit,’ if you know what that means, to get you free.  Jimmie boy, when dad likes a person he likes him!”

“I hope his daughter does the same.”

“Don’t you know—­Jimmie boy?”

The warden, the detective, the keeper and the lawyer—­all now seemed interested in that prosaic calendar.

Amy had had but little chance to speak to Darcy since, his arrest.  In police headquarters he was kept in seclusion except as to his lawyer, and events had followed one another so rapidly that there had been no other opportunity until now, though the girl had sent him a hasty note in which she said she knew he was innocent and that everything possible was being done for him.