Illness had secured to Beryl immunity from contact with her comrades in misery, and except to visit the little chapel, she never left the sheltering walls of her small comfortless room, grateful for the unexpected boon of silent seclusion.  Her Christmas greeting had been little Dick’s sweet lips kissing her cheek, as he deposited upon her narrow bed the black and white shawl his mother had knitted, and a box left by Miss Gordon on the previous day, which contained half a dozen pretty handkerchiefs with mourning borders, some delicate perfume and soaps, toilet brushes and a sachet.

An hour later, when Mrs. Singleton and her babies had gone to spend the day with relatives in the city, Beryl went to the window, pushed the sash up, and listened to the ringing of the Sabbath-school bells, as every church beyond the river called its nursery to the altar, to celebrate the day.  The metallic clangor was mellowed by distance, rising and falling like rhythmic waves, and the faint echo, filtered through dense pine forests behind the penitentiary, had the ghostly iteration of the Folge Fond.

A gaunt yellow kitten, with a faded red ribbon knotted about its neck, and vicious, amber-colored eyes that were a perpetual challenge, had fled from the tender mercies of Dick to the city of refuge under Beryl’s cot; and community of suffering had kindled an attachment that now prompted the lesser waif to spring into the girl’s folded arms, and rub its head against her shoulder.  Mechanically Beryl’s hand stroked the creature’s ear, while it purred softly under the caress; but suddenly its back curved into an arch, the tail broadened, the purr became a growl.  Had association lifted the brute’s instincts to the plane of human antipathies?

The warden had opened the door and quickly closed it, after ushering in a tall figure, who wore an overcoat which was buttoned from throat to knees.  At sight of Mr. Dunbar, the cat plunged to the floor, and sped away to the darkest corner under the iron bedstead.

“Good morning.  I dare not utter here the greetings of the day, because you would construe it into a heartless mockery.”

He came forward hesitatingly, and she turned swiftly away, pressing her face against the bars of the window, waving him back.

“Why will you persist in regarding as an enemy, the one person in all the world who is most anxious to befriend you?”

Still no answer; only the repellent gesture warning him away.

“Will you allow me, this Christmas morning, to comfort myself in some degree, by leaving here a few flowers to brighten your desolate surroundings?”

He held out a bouquet of rare and brilliant hothouse blossoms, whose delicious fragrance had already pervaded the room.  They stood side by side, yet she shrank farther, and kept her face averted, shivering perceptibly.  Lifting one arm he drew down the sash to shut out the freezing air.

“You are resolved neither to look at nor speak to me?  So be it.  At least you must listen to me.  You may not care to hear that I have been absent, but perhaps it will interest you to know that I went in search of the man for whose crime you are paying the penalty.”