“No,” she said, “listen—­my child lay enrobed in her garment of death, and the sun was fast declining in the west, when Mr. Swartz and two constables entered the room and arrested me.  On my bended knees I appealed to him not to tear me from the body of my child.  Yes,” she continued, excitedly, “I prayed to him in the most abject manner to leave me until my child was buried.  My prayers were unavailing, and from the window of this cell I witnessed a lonely hearse pass by, followed by none other than my infant boy and the kind old negro.  Oh God!  Oh God!” she went on, bursting into tears and throwing herself on the wretched pallet in the cell, “my cup of misery was then full, and I had drained it to the very dregs.  I have nothing more to live for now, and the few days longer I have to spend on earth can be passed as well in a prison as in a mansion.”

“Not so,” interrupted Dr. Humphries, “I trust you will live many, many years longer, to be a guardian to your child and a comfort to your husband.”

“It cannot be,” she answered sadly.  “The brain, overwrought, will soon give way to madness, and then a welcome death will spare me the life of a maniac.  I do not speak idly,” she continued, observing the look they cast upon her; “from the depths of my mind, a voice whispers that my troubles on earth will soon be o’er.  I have one desire, however, and should like to see it granted.”

“Let me know what that is,” remarked Dr. Humphries, “and if it lies in my power it shall be accorded to you with pleasure.”

“Your companion spoke of my husband as his friend; does he know where he is at present, and if so, can I not see him?”

“I promise that you shall see your husband before many days.  Until you are removed from this place I do not think it advisable, but,” continued Harry, “I shall, on leaving this place, endeavor to secure your release.”

Mrs. Wentworth made no answer, and, speaking a few words of consolation and hope to her, the two gentlemen left the prison.  The next morning Harry called on the Mayor and asked if Mrs. Wentworth could be bailed, but on his honor mentioning that her trial would come off the next day, the court having met that evening, he determined to await the trial, confident that she would be acquitted when the facts of the case were made known to the jury.  On the same day he met Alfred Wentworth, who informed him that he was more strongly impressed than ever in the belief that the pretended Englishman was a spy.

“I will inform you of a plan that will prove whether you are right or not,” observed Harry, when he had concluded.  “Tomorrow at about three o’clock in the evening persuade him to visit the Court House.  I will be present, and if he is really the spy you imagine, will have full evidence against him.”

“What evidence?” enquired Alfred.

“Never do you mind,” he replied, “just bring him and there will be plenty of evidence found to convict him if he is a spy.  By the way,” he continued, “you said you suspected him to be the same man who caused your wife to be turned out of New Orleans?”