I will say here that no harm happened either to George or the Professors in consequence of his having told the King, but will reserve particulars for my concluding chapter.

CHAPTER XXI:  YRAM, ON GETTING RID OF HER GUESTS, GOES TO THE PRISON TO SEE MY FATHER

Yram did not take the advice she had given her guests, but set about preparing a basket of the best cold dainties she could find, including a bottle of choice wine that she knew my father would like; thus loaded she went to the gaol, which she entered by her father’s private entrance.

It was now about half-past four, so that much more must have been said and done after luncheon at the Mayor’s than ever reached my father.  The wonder is that he was able to collect so much.  He, poor man, as soon as George left him, flung himself on to the bed that was in his cell and lay there wakeful, but not unquiet, till near the time when Yram reached the gaol.

The old gaoler came to tell him that she had come and would be glad to see him; much as he dreaded the meeting there was no avoiding it, and in a few minutes Yram stood before him.

Both were agitated, but Yram betrayed less of what she felt than my father.  He could only bow his head and cover his face with his hands.  Yram said, “We are old friends; take your hands from your face and let me see you.  There!  That is well.”

She took his right hand between both hers, looked at him with eyes full of kindness, and said softly—­

“You are not much changed, but you look haggard, worn, and ill; I am uneasy about you.  Remember, you are among friends, who will see that no harm befalls you.  There is a look in your eyes that frightens me.”

As she spoke she took the wine out of her basket, and poured him out a glass, but rather to give him some little thing to distract his attention, than because she expected him to drink it—­which he could not do.

She never asked him whether he found her altered, or turned the conversation ever such a little on to herself; all was for him; to soothe and comfort him, not in words alone, but in look, manner, and voice.  My father knew that he could thank her best by controlling himself, and letting himself be soothed and comforted—­at any rate so far as he could seem to be.

Up to this time they had been standing, but now Yram, seeing my father calmer, said, “Enough, let us sit down.”

So saying she seated herself at one end of the small table that was in the cell, and motioned my father to sit opposite to her.  “The light hurts you?” she said, for the sun was coming into the room.  “Change places with me, I am a sun worshipper.  No, we can move the table, and we can then see each other better.”

This done, she said, still very softly, “And now tell me what it is all about.  Why have you come here?”

“Tell me first,” said my father, “what befell you after I had been taken away.  Why did you not send me word when you found what had happened? or come after me?  You know I should have married you at once, unless they bound me in fetters.”