In Durance Vile.

With a basket on her arm, Rose Summerhayes issued from the creeper-covered verandah of the many-gabled house, and stood in her garden of roses.

It was the time of the autumn blooms. With a pair of garden scissors she cut the choicest flowers, and placed them upon the snowy napkin which covered the contents of her basket. Then she tripped into the town. She passed by Tresco’s shop, where Jake Ruggles, worried by the inquiries of the police, and overwhelmed with orders which he could not execute, strove to act the absent goldsmith’s part. At the door of The Lucky Digger, where stood a noisy throng of men from the gold-field, she heard the words, “It never was the work of one man. If he did it, he had accomplices. How could one man lug the four of ’em up that mountain-side,” and she hurried past, knowing too well to whom the talk referred.

As she passed the Kangaroo Bank, a florid man, wearing a white waistcoat, came out through the glass doors with a digger who had been selling gold.

“So you thought you’d bring your gold to town yourself?” said the florid man.

“After that, yes,” replied the digger. “I sold the nugget to Zahn for six-pound-ten, and, when next I see it, the Sergeant’s got it. There never was a clearer case. It’s a good thing they’ve got ’im safe in gaol.”

Rose hurried on, feeling that all the town, watching her with unsympathetic eyes, knew well where she was going. But at last she stood before the gate of the wooden prison. After ringing for admittance, she was ushered into a room, bare of furniture save for a pine table and a couple of chairs, where a warder read the Judge’s order, made some entries in a big book, and examined the contents of the basket.

She was next conducted through a species of hall which opened into a small, covered yard, on either side of which stood rows of white-washed, wooden cells.

Unlocking the second cell on the left-hand side, the warder said in a loud voice, as though he were speaking to some one who was either a long way off or very deaf, “Visitor to see you. Stand up, man. ’Tisn’t every day that a pris’ner has a young lady to see him.”

Rose entered the cell, and the door was closed behind her. The walls were white and bare. On a small bench at the further end sat a figure she saw but indistinctly until her eyes became accustomed to the dim light which crept through the grating in the door, against which she could observe the head of the watchful warder who stood inside the cell.

Jack rose slowly to his feet, and stood speechless, with his hand extended.

“I’ve brought you a couple of fowls and some fruit,” said Rose.

“Thank you.” Jack’s voice was very low, and his words came very slowly. “Do you know the crime I’m accused of?”

“Please don’t talk of that,” said Rose. “I know all about it.”

“I wonder you come to see me. No one else does.”

“Perhaps they’re not allowed to. But my father and Captain Sartoris will be here presently.”

“Indeed! It’s very kind of them.”

“But, you see, we don’t believe you’re guilty; we think you’ll be able to prove your innocence at the trial.”

Conversation goes but tamely when a prison warder dwells on every word. The two stood in the centre of the cell, Jack holding tightly the girl’s right hand, while with her left she held the basket. Withdrawing her hand from his ardent clasp, she placed the roses on the bench and uncovered the dainties which the basket contained. There being no table on which to place them, she spread the napkin on the bench, and laid the delicacies upon it.

“I am allowed to come every other day,” she said, “and next time I hope to bring my father with me. He’s engaged to-day with a ship.” “I never saw the men after they passed me on the track. I never did this thing.”

Rose took his hand in hers, and gently pressed it. “If you don’t wish to hurt me, you will not speak about it. At home we agree to say nothing. We hear all sorts of things, but we keep silent—it makes it hurt less.”

“You still have faith in me?”

“Why not?”

“Do others take that view?”

“I hope so.”

“But I’m afraid the men on the diggings think hardly of me.”

“Why should they? They are all coming to town, I am told, in order to attend the trial.”

“So much the greater will be my degradation, if I am found guilty.”

“On the other hand, so much greater will be your triumph, when you prove your innocence.”

The conversation had got thus far, when voices were heard without, the door of the cell opened, and the Pilot and Captain Sartoris entered.

“Well, lad,” exclaimed old Summerhayes, as he vigorously shook Jack’s hand. “Keeping her head well to the wind, eh? That’s the style, lad. You’ll find she’ll weather the storm.”

“Aye, aye,” said Sartoris. “If she goes down with all hands it’s not the fault of the skipper, providing he’s steered his true course.”

“That’s so,” said the Pilot; “providing he’s steered his true course. We were thinking o’ bail, Jack. We thought to make you comfortable till you’d proved they’d arrested the wrong man; but that old barnacle of a Judge wouldn’t budge an inch. He consulted his log, and neither Sartoris, nor me, nor my dar’ter, could drive any sense into him. So we gave it up: we intend to do our best to make you happy here.”

“Lord bless you,” said Sartoris, “it won’t seem no time at all before you are out an’ about. Then the whole affair will be but an episode,”—he dwelt on the word, which he had been treasuring in his mind for hours past—“simply an episode, only made to be forgotten.” This speech was a great effort of oratory, and the Captain drew a long breath, looking sideways at the Pilot, as though he had given a cue.

“Luck goes in streaks, lad,” said Captain Summerhayes. “You struck a bad one when you set sail with Sartoris here. I don’t mean no offence to you, Captain; but I do not, never did, and never shall, admire the way you handled The Mersey Witch.”

“Go on,” remarked Sartoris; “rub it in. I can bear it.”

“Having got into a bad streak, Jack, you must expect it to stick to you for a time. I did think as how you’d lost it when you come home with all that gold. But, you see, I was right at first; you’re in it yet. There’s no cure but to bear it. An’ that you will, lad, like the man you are.”

“We’ve come to cheer you up, Jack,” said Sartoris, “an’ I hope we’ve done it. But there’s one thing that I believe is usual in these cases, an’ that’s a sky-pilot. I have heard as how a sky-pilot’s more comfortin’ to a man in gaol than anything else. What’s your special brand? What kind do you fancy? I’m ashamed to say we’ve talked so little religion, Jack, that I don’t know what religious crew you signed on with when you was young, but if there’s any special breed o’ parson you fancy, you’ve only got to give him a name, and if he lives in this town or within a radius of ten miles, he shall come an’ minister to you reg’lar, or I’ll know the reason why.” During this remarkable speech, Rose had quietly slipped out of the cell and, with her empty basket on her arm, had turned her steps homeward.

On rounding a corner of a street in the centre of the town, she almost ran into Rachel Varnhagen.

“Well, well, well, where have you been?” was the Jewess’s greeting, as she stopped to talk to Rose.

“I’ve been to the gaol.”

“To the gaol! Goodness, what for?”

Rose did not reply.

“I do believe you’ve been to see that contemptible murderer.”

“If you mean a friend of mine, who was also a friend of yours who did you a great service, I beg you to stop.”

“I mean that man Scarlett.”

“And so do I.”

“What! you’ve been speaking to him? You must be mad. The man’s a murderer. It’s awful!”

“You shouldn’t judge him before he has been tried.”

“The evidence is the same now as it will be then. There was a nugget of a strange shape, which a digger sold to poor Isaac Zahn, and it was found on your precious Scarlett when he was arrested.”

Rose made no answer.

“And to think,” Rachel continued, “that I was almost engaged to him.”

“I never heard that,” said Rose, coldly.

“My dear, I’m thankful to say nobody did, but he used to come regularly to our house when he was in town, and my stupid old father used to encourage him. Such an escape I never had. Fancy being married to a murderer. Ugh!”

“There’s no need to fancy anything of the sort. You couldn’t have married him till he asked you.”

“But, dear, if he had, I should have accepted him. You know, he is so handsome. And he is awfully rich. My father wouldn’t have heard of my refusing him. Certainly, he’s not of our religion, but then we’re not very orthodox. I’m afraid I should have accepted him: I’m sure I should. And then, think of poor Isaac. I really was fond of him. I know it now; but he was so slow in making money—I couldn’t waste all my life in waiting.”

“You must feel his death dreadfully,” said Rose.

“But it doesn’t comfort me very much, when my friends go to see his murderer.”

“I haven’t been to see a murderer.”

“Good gracious! If that awful Scarlett didn’t murder him, who did?”

“I haven’t the least idea, but I feel sure there’s been a mistake on the part of the police.”

“There’s no mistake: they found the bodies yesterday in the bush.”

As Rachel spoke, the two girls saw a strange procession coming down the street.

“Look!” cried Rachel, seizing Rose’s arm for support. “Look what is coming.”

In single file, slowly the searchers were carrying the bodies of the murdered men, wrapped in canvas and strapped to poles cut from the forest trees. As they advanced, a crowd, bare-headed and at every step increasing, accompanied the doleful procession. They passed the spot where stood the two girls, the one supporting the other, and so disappeared out of sight.