WITHIN PRISON BARS.

"A week, and yet he has never been near me! Not a word, not a sign! What does he mean? Why has he left me to my cruel fate?"

The beautiful prisoner raged up and down the narrow limits of her prison cell like a caged lioness, so desperate was her mood, so fierce her unrest.

"Such cruel and heartless neglect from him who incited me to that dark deed is unbearable! He does not yet know Fedora if he believes she will tamely bear it!" And she clinched her white hands ominously, her eyes glittering with anger, as she thought of the man for whom she had risked so much, yet who seemed to have left her to her fate without an effort to save her.

"Where is he? What has become of him? Will he leave me to die like a rat in a hole? And I thought he loved me—fool that I was! Did I not already know men too well to trust him? Oh, fool that I was! And yet, dare he desert me, the partner in his terrible secret? Perhaps the coward has fled, fearing that I may betray him!"

So she raved on, every moment increasing her impotent fury.

"No answer to my letters, no notice taken of my passionate appeals! Why, he might have effected my escape ere this if he had tried, and I must escape! It is true I can not be hung, since that foolish girl saved Ralph's life when he was on the brink of death; but if I am sentenced I shall be sent to prison for long, long years! I can not bear the thought! Oh, God, I'm stifling—dying!" She threw herself on her hard couch, sobbing in hysterical abandon.

A grating sound at the door; the key turned in the lock; the portal opened, closed again. Inside stood a beautiful young girl gazing with sad, accusing eyes at the wretched, sobbing woman.

Fedora looked up with a cry of wonder mingled with rage:

"Kathleen Carew!"

"Yes, Kathleen!" answered the other. She advanced, and they gazed in momentary silence into each other's eyes—the girl Ralph Chainey loved, and the woman that was his wife.

"Why are you here?" muttered Fedora, hoarsely, as she started to her feet.

"For justice," answered Kathleen, sternly.

"Justice?"

"Yes, justice to the man you tried to murder—the man I saved from death!"

"Saved, yes—curse you forever for that deed!" snarled the prisoner, viciously.

Kathleen recoiled a little at her terrible aspect, and said, in wonder:

"Why did you do it? Why did you want him dead?"

"I hated him! I hate you!"

"I know, but you would soon have been free of him by the law. Why did you want to kill him? It was horrible. Life is so sweet when one is young; and Ralph is young—only twenty-five," said the young girl, almost piteously.

"Why do you come here to probe into my secrets?" Fedora cried, fiercely. "Listen, then: I wanted him dead before he secured the divorce, so that I might inherit his wealth. I, his loving widow! Ha! ha! Was it not a clever scheme?" She laughed wildly; and, coming closer to Kathleen, glared threateningly into her eyes as she hissed: "You foiled me—you—curse you, I repeat! Let me but escape, and I will murder you!"

A weaker heart than Kathleen's might have quailed before such threats; but she stood there trembling but courageous, an earnest purpose in her splendid eyes.

"These are idle words, and I did not come here to bandy words with you. I came to make a solemn appeal to you," she said meekly, almost beseechingly.

"Appeal to me?" asked the prisoner, with a scornful laugh; and then she waited out of curiosity for the other's answer.

"Do you remember that night in Philadelphia?" Kathleen asked.

"Yes, I remember."

"You were wearing my diamonds—the ones that were stolen from me that night when I was left for dead on the ground at Lincoln Station. You told me—told me," her voice faltering, "that Ralph Chainey gave you the jewels. Oh, God! I think if I had quite believed that horrible story, I should have died! But there was always the merciful doubt—the hope that it might not be true—that saved me from madness!"

She paused, but the prisoner did not speak—only smiled derisively.

"So I have come to you for the truth," went on the girl. "Oh, for God's sake, speak and tell me you lied! It was not Ralph; it could not be. Perhaps you are shielding the guilty man behind his identity. Are you? Tell me the truth! I will not ask you to betray the criminal. I do not wish to punish him. Only tell me it was not Ralph!" and she waited in wild suspense for the answer.

Fedora's evilly handsome face had on it a smile of triumph. She was gloating over the young girl's misery.

"So you love my husband?" she exclaimed, tauntingly, and the deep color rose up over Kathleen's face at the cruel sneer. She trembled with emotion, although she tried to appear indifferent as she answered:

"I did not come here to discuss that with you, madame."

Fedora was regarding her with a fixed gaze. A cunning thought had entered her mind.

"How much is my secret worth to you?" she asked.

"All the wealth in the world, if I had it, but I am penniless. I can not buy your secret," Kathleen answered, sadly.

Fedora came nearer and whispered in her ear:

"If I tell you the truth, will you help me to escape?"

"I could not do it if I wished to do so ever so much. It would take money, and I have already told you I have none."

The voice was cold and dull. Kathleen began to realize how hopeless was her mission. The cruel, calculating woman before her had no pity for her misery.

But Fedora was scheming in her mind how to turn her secret to account. She hated Kathleen too bitterly to show her any kindness; but if she could pay for the secret she wanted so badly, why, let her have it.

She looked at Kathleen with a cunning expression.

"There is one condition on which I will tell you what you want to know."

"I have already told you that I have no money."

"I do not mean money. Listen, Miss Carew: You know Ivan Belmont?"

"Yes," with a contemptuous gesture.

"He is a friend of mine; and if he knew about my trouble he would try to help me, I think. Do you know where he is? Can you send word to him?"

"I do not know anything about his whereabouts."

"You must find out. You must tell him that I, Fedora, have sent you to him. Tell him I command him to come to me here. Return to me with a letter from Ivan Belmont, and you shall hear the truth about the diamonds. I swear it!"

They gazed at each other—Fedora flushed and eager, Kathleen excited, sorely tempted.

"What say you? Is my price too great?" demanded the prisoner.

"No," Kathleen replied. Turning to go, she said:

"I will surely find Ivan Belmont, and bring the letter."

The door closed. The prisoner was again alone within the grated cell.

The hours dragged on and brought the gloomy night. With it there hovered over the great city the black and vulture wings of a terrible storm. It hissed, it roared, it swept with devastating, cyclonic force through that area where the prison was situated. Trees, roofs, houses even, yielded to its terrific fury, and flew like feathers before its angry breath. The poor prisoners, cowering in superstitious terror before the awful voices of the warring elements, prayed to God for mercy; but the answer seemed far, far away, for suddenly there came a terrible, deafening roar; the earth seemed to rock like a cradle, and the great stone tower of the prison fell with a sound as though heaven and hell had clashed, while lurid flames shot up from the awful ruin into the midnight air. Sentence of death had already been pronounced on many who were awaiting trial, and many a soul went up in that holocaust of smoke and flame and tempest to render an account of the deeds done in the flesh. Some few survived, some few escaped. Where was Fedora?