With pallid cheeks and haggard eyes,
And loud laments and heartfelt sighs,
Unpitied, hopeless of relief,
She drinks the cup of bitter grief.

In vain the sigh, in rain the tear,
Compassion never enters here;
But justice clanks the iron chain
And calls forth shame, remorse, and pain.
—Anon

The same carriage that brought Lord Vincent and Mrs. Dugald to the town hall conveyed them from that place to the county jail.

There Lord Vincent finally dismissed it, sending it home to the castle, and instructing Cuthbert to pack up some changes of clothing and his dressing-case and a few books and to bring them to him at the prison.

Mrs. Dugald at the same time stopped crying long enough to order the old man to ask Mrs. MacDonald to put up all that might be necessary to her comfort for a week, and dispatch it by the same messenger that should bring Lord Vincent's effects.

These arrangements concluded, the carriage drove away and Policeman McRae conducted his prisoners into the jail. He took them first into the warden's room, where he produced the warrant for their commital and delivered them up.

The warden, "Auld Saundie Gra'ame," as he was familiarly styled, was a tall, gaunt, hard-favored old Scot, who had been too many years in his present position to be astonished at any description of prisoner that might be confined to his custody. In his public service of more than a quarter of a century he had had turned over to his tender mercies more than one elegantly dressed female, and many more than one titled scamp. So, without evincing the least surprise, he simply took the female prisoner, named in the warrant "Faustina Dugald," to be—just what she was—a fallen angel who had dropped into the clutches of the law; and the male prisoner, named in the warrant "Malcolm Dugald, Viscount Vincent," to be—what he was—a noble rogue, guilty of being found out.

While he was reading the warrants, entering their names in his books, and writing out a receipt for their "bodies," Lord Vincent stood with his fettered hands clasped, his head bowed upon his chest, and his countenance set in grim endurance; and Faustina stood wringing her hands, weeping, and moaning, and altogether making a good deal of noise.

"Whisht, whisht, bairnie! dinna greet sae loud! Hech! but ye mak' din eneugh to deave a miller!" expostulated the warden, as he handed the receipt to McRae and turned his regards to the female prisoner.

But the only effect of his words upon Faustina was to open the sluices of her tears and make them flow in greater abundance.

"Eh, lassie, 'tis pity of you too! But hae ye ne'er been tauld that the way o' the transgreesor is haird? and the wages o' sin is deeth?" said the "kindly" Scot.

"But I do not deserve death! I never did kill anybody myself!" whimpered Faustina.

"Wha the de'il said ye did? I was quoting the Book whilk I greatly fear ye dinna aften look into, or ye would na be here noo."

"But I have no right to be here. I never did anything, I, myself, to deserve such treatment. It was Lord Vincent's fault. It was he who brought me to this!" whined Faustina.

"Nae doobt! nae doobt at a'! He's ane o' the natural enemies o' your sex, ye ken. And ye suld o' thocht o' that before ye trusted him sae far."

"I did not trust him at all. And I do not know what you mean by your insinuations, you horrid old red-headed beast!" cried Faustina.

"Whisht! whisht! haud your tongue, woman! Dinna be sae abusive! Fou' words du nae guid, as I aften hae occasion to impress upon the malefactors that are brocht here for safe-keeping," said the jailer, as he turned and looked around upon the underlings in attendance. Then beckoning one of the turnkeys to him, he said:

"Here, Cuddie, tak' this lass into the north corridor o' the women's ward; and when ye hae her safe in the cell, ye maun knock off the irons fra her wrists. Gang wi' Cuddie, lass; an dinna be fashed; he's nae a bad chiel."

Cuddie, a big, honest, good-natured looking brute, took a bunch of great keys from their hook on the wall and signing for his prisoner to follow him, turned to depart.

But Faustina showed no disposition to obey the order. And McRae, who had lingered in the room, now turned to the warden and said:

"If you please, sir, Sir Alexander McKetchum desired me to request you to put these prisoners into as comfortable quarters as you could command, consistent with their safe custody."

"Sir Alexander would do weel to mind his ain business. Wha the de'il gi'e him commission to dictate to me?" demanded the old Scot wrathfully.

"Nay, sir, he only makes the request as a personal favor," said
McRae deprecatingly.

"Ou, aye, aweel, that's anither thing. Though there's nae muckle of choice amang the cells, for that matter; forbye it's the four points o' the compass, nor', sou', east, and wast. The jail is square and fronts nor', and the cells range accordingly. There's nae better than the nor' corridor o' the women's ward. Tak' the lass awa, Cuddie."

Cuddie laid his hand not unkindly on the shoulder of his prisoner, and Faustina, seeing at last that resistance was quite in vain, followed him out.

"Noo, Donald, mon," said the jailer, beckoning another turnkey, "convey his lairdship to the sou-wast corner cell in the men's ward. It has the advantage of twa windows and mare sunshine than fa's to the lot o' prison cells in general. And when ye get him there relieve him o' his manacles."

The officer addressed took down his bunch of keys, and turned to his prisoner. But Lord Vincent did not wait for the desecrating hand of the turnkey to be laid upon his shoulder. With a haughty gesture and tone he said:

"Lead the way, fellow; I follow you."

And Donald bowed and preceded his prisoner as if he had been a head- waiter of a fashionable hotel, showing an honored guest to his apartments.

When they were gone the old warden turned to the policeman:

"Will it gae hard wi' them, do ye think, McRae?"

"I think it will send them to penal servitude for twenty years or for life."

Meanwhile Cuddie conducted his prisoner through long lines of close, musty, fetid passages, and up high flights of cold, damp stone stairs, to the very top of the building, where the women's wards were situated.

Here he found a stout old woman, in a linen cap, plaid shawl, and linsey gown, seated at an end window, with her feet upon a foot- stove, and her hands engaged in knitting a stocking.

She was Mrs. Ferguson, the female turnkey.

"Here, mither, I hae brocht you anither prisoner," said Cuddie, coming up with his charge.

The old woman settled her spectacles on her nose, and looked up, taking a deliberate survey of the newcomer, as she said:

"Hech! the quean is unco foine; they be braw claes to come to prison in. Eh, Cuddie, I wad suner hae any ither than ane o' these hizzies brocht in."

"But, mither, the word is that she maun be made comfortable," said
Cuddie.

"Ou, aye—nae doobt! she will be some callant's light o' luve, wha hae a plenty o' siller!" replied the old woman scornfully, as she rose from her place and led the way to the door of a cell about halfway down the same corridor.

"Ye'll pit her in here. It will be as guid as anither," she said.

Cuddie detached a certain key from his bunch and handed it to her. She opened the door, and they entered. The cell was a small stone chamber, six feet by eight, with one small grated window, facing the door. On the right of the window was a narrow bed, filling up that side of the cell; on the left was a rusty stove; that was all; there was no chair, no table, no strip of carpet on the cold stone floor; all was comfortless, desolate.

Faustina burst into a fresh flood of tears as she threw herself upon the wretched bed.

"Let me tak' aff the fetters," said Cuddie gently.

Faustina arose to a sitting position, and held up her hands.

Cuddie, with some trouble, got them off, but so awkwardly that he bruised and grazed her wrists in doing so, while Faustina wept piteously and railed freely. Cuddie was too good-natured to mind the railing, but the dame fired up:

"Haud your growlin', ye ne'er-do well! Gin ye had your deserts, for a fou'-mouthed jaud, ye'd be in a dark cell on bread and water!"

"Whisht! whisht, mither! Let her hae the length o' her tongue, puir lass! It does her guid, and it does me na hurt. There, lass—the airns are aff, and if you'll o'ny put your kershief aroun' your bonnie wrists they'll sune be weel eneugh."

"Take me away! take me away from that horrid ol woman!" cried
Faustina, turning her wrath upon the dame and appealing to Cuddie.

"Whisht! dinna ye mind her. She's a puir dolted auld carline," said Cuddie, in a voice happily too low to reach the ear of said "carline."

"Ye maunna guid her siccan a sair gait, mither," said Cuddie, as they left the cell.

"I doobt she has guided hersel' an uco' ill ane," retorted the dame.

Faustina was left sitting on the side of the hard bed, weeping bitterly. She did not throw off her bonnet or cloak. She could not make herself at home in this wretched den. Besides, it was bitterly cold; there was no fire in the rusty stove and she wrapped her sables more closely around her.

She remained there in the same position, cowering, shivering and weeping, for two or three miserable hours, when she was at length broken in upon by the old dame, who brought in her prison dinner— coarse beef broth, in a tin can, with an iron spoon, and a thick hunk or oatmeal bread on a tin plate.

"What is that!" ask Faustina.

"Your dinner. Is it na guid o' the authorities to feed the like o' you for naething?"

"My dinner! ugh! Do you think I am going to swallow that swill—fit only for pigs?" exclaimed Faustina, in disgust.

"Hech, sirs! what's the warld comming to? It is guid broose, verra guid broose, that many an honest woman would be unco glad to hae for hersel' and her puir bairns, forbye you!" said the dame wrathfully.

"Take it away! the sight of it makes me ill!"

"Verra weel; just as you please. I'll set it here, till ye come to your stomach," said the dame, setting the can and plate down upon the stone floor, for there was no other place to put them.

"I want a fire—I am frozen!" cried Faustina.

"Why did na ye say sae before?" growled the dame, going out.

In a few minutes she came back, bringing coals and kindlings and lighted the fire, and then retreated as sullenly as she had entered. Faustina drew near the stove, and sat down upon the floor to hover over it.

When she grew warm her eyes began to glitter dangerously. She turned herself around and surveyed the place. Like the frozen viper thawed to life, her first instinct was to bite.

"I would like to set fire to the prison !" she said.

But a moment's reflection proved to her the folly of this impulse. If she should use the fire in her stove for such incendiary purposes, herself would be the only thing burned up; the cell of stone and its furniture of iron would escape with a smoking.

She put off her bonnet and her sables—the first time since the night before, and she threw herself upon the bed, and lay there in a torment until six o'clock in the evening, when the door was once more unlocked by the dame, who brought her the prison supper—a tin can of oatmeal porridge.

"Here's your parritch; ye may eat it or leave it, just as ye please," said the woman, setting the can on the floor.

"I want some tea! I will have none of your filthy messes! Bring me some tea!" cried Faustina.

"I wish ye may get it, lassie, that's a'," answered the dame, as she went out and locked the door behind her.

That was the last visit Faustina had that night. She lay on her hard bed, weeping, moaning, and lamenting her fate, until the last light of day died out of the narrow window, and left the cell in darkness, but for the dim red ray in the corner, that showed where the fire in the rusty stove burned. And still she lay there, until the pangs of hunger began to assail her. These she bore some time before she could overcome her repugnance to the prison fare. At length, however, she arose and groped her way about the stone floor until she found the can of beef broth, which, upon trying, she discovered to taste better than it looked. She ate it all; then she ate the hunk of bread; and finally she finished with the oatmeal porridge. And, then, without undressing, she threw herself on the outside of her bed; and, overcome with fatigue, distress, and vigilance, she fell into a deep sleep that lasted until the morning.

It might have lasted much longer, but she was aroused about seven o'clock, by the entrance of her keeper, bringing her breakfast.

"Eh!" said the dame, glancing at the empty cans, "but I thocht ye would come to your stomach. Here's your breakfast."

Faustina raised herself up and gazed around in a bewildered way, but she soon recollected herself, and looked inquiringly at her keeper.

"It's your breakfast," said the latter; "it's guid rye coffee, sweeted wi' treacle, and a braw bit o' bannock."

"I want water and soap and towels," said Faustina, in an angry, peremptory manner.

"Ou, aye, nae doobt; and ye would like a lady's maid, and perfumery 'till your toilet. Aweel, there is a stone jug and bowl of water, and a hempen clout ahint the stove, gin that will serve your purpose," said the dame, setting down the breakfast, and gathering the empty cans from the floor as she left the cell.

Faustina, poor wretch, made such a toilet as her rude providings enabled her to do, and then, with what appetite she might, made her morning meal. And then she sat on the edge of her bed and cried and wished herself dead.

At about eleven o'clock she heard footsteps and voices approaching the cell. And the door was opened by the turnkey, who ushered in Mrs. MacDonald, followed by a servant from the castle, bringing a large box and a basket.

The servant set down his burdens and retired with the turnkey, who immediately locked the door.

And not until then, when they were left alone, did this precious pair of female friends rush into each other's arms, Faustina bursting into tears and sobbing violently on the bosom of Mrs. MacDonald, and Mrs. MacDonald wheedling, caressing, and soothing Faustina.

"Mine pet, mine darling, mine bonny bairn," were some of the epithets of endearment bestowed by the lady upon her favorite.

"Oh, madame, what a purgatory of a place, and what demons of people!" Faustina cried.

"Yes, my sweet child, yes, I know it! but bear up!"

"Nothing fit to eat, or drink, or sleep on, or sit down, or even to wash with; and no one to speak a civil word to me!" wailed Faustina, still dwelling upon present inconveniences rather than, thinking of the future perils.

"Yes, my dear, yes, I know; but now, sit you down and see what I have brought you," said Mrs. MacDonald, gently forcing Faustina to seat herself upon the side of the bed.

"Look at my poor dress," said Faustina, pointing down to the delicate white evening dress in which she had been arrested, and which was now crumpled, torn, and stained.

"Eh, but that's a woeful sight! But I thought of it, my bairn, and I have brought you a plain black silk and white linen collars and sleeves. Let me help you to change your dress, and I will take that white one home with me."

Faustina agreed to this, and when the change was effected she certainly presented a more respectable appearance.

Mrs. MacDonald next unpacked the large basket, taking from it a dressing-case, furnished with every requisite for the toilet; a work-box, with every convenience for a lady's busy-idleness; and a writing-desk, with every necessary article for epistolary correspondence.

"Now where shall I put them?" she inquired, looking around upon the bare cell.

"Ah, the beastly place!" exclaimed Faustina; "there is no table, no stand; you will have to leave them on the floor or set them on the window sill."

Mrs. MacDonald ranged them on the floor, against the wall, under the window.

And then she rolled up the spoiled evening dress and crowded it into the empty basket. Next she took the trunk and pushed it under the bed, saying:

"In that trunk, my dear, you will find every requisite change of clothing. The basket I will take back."

"Ah, but I want many more things beside clothing. I want tea and coffee. I want bed linen and china; and—many more things," said Faustina impatiently,

"And you shall have everything you want, my dear. Your purse is in
your writing desk. There are a hundred and forty guineas in it.
Money will buy you all you want. And I will see it brought," said
Mrs. Dugald, going to the cell door and rapping.

Dame Ferguson came and unlocked it.

"I wish to come out," said Mrs. MacDonald.

"Aye, me leddy," said the dame, courtesying and making way for the visitor to pass; for the carriage, with the Hurstmonceux arms emblazoned upon its panels, the servant in the livery of the Earl of Hurstmonceux, and the haughty air of the lady visitor, all impressed the female turnkey with a feeling of awe.

"I wish to speak with you, dame," said Mrs. MacDonald.

"Aye, me leddy, and muckle honor till me!" replied the woman, with another low courtesy, as she led the way to her seat at the window at the extreme end of the corridor.

"I wish to bespeak your attention to the lady I have just left," said Mrs. MacDonald.

"Aye, me leddy! Ye will be ane o' the beneevolent leddies wha gang about, seeking for the lost sheep o' the house o' Israel, meaning sic puir misguided lasses as yon! Ye'll be aiblins, ane o' the leddy directors o' the Magdalen Hospital?" said Mrs. Ferguson.

"The—what? I don't know what you mean, woman. I am speaking to you of a lady-the Honorable Mrs. Dugald."

"A leddy? The Honorable Mistress Dugald? Ou! aye! forgi'e me, your leddyship. I'm e'en but a puir, auld, doitted bodie. I e'en thocht ye were talking o' yon misguided quean in the cell. The Honorable Mistress Dugald. She'll be like yoursel', intereested in yon lassie; and aiblins ain o' the leddy direectors o' the Magdalen."

"I think you are a fool. The misguided lassie, as you have the impudence to call her, is no misguided lassie at all. She is the Honorable Mrs. Dugald, of Castle Cragg," said Mrs. MacDonald impatiently.

"Wha—she—the lass in yon cell, the Honorable—Mistress—Dugald?"

"Herself!"

"Hech, that's awfu'l"

"So I wished to give you a hint to treat her with the consideration due to her rank."

"Eh, sirs! but that's awfu'!" repeated the dame, unable to overget her astonishment.

"She has money enough to pay for all that she requires and to reward those who are kind to her besides," continued Mrs. MacDonald.

"Nae doobt! nae doobt! bags o' gowd and siller! bags o' gowd and siller! What a puir, auld, doitted, fule bodie I was, to be sure," said the dame, in a tone of regret.

"Now, I want to know whether she cannot have a few comforts in her cell, if she is able and willing to pay for them, and to reward her attendants for bringing them?"

"And what for no? The bonny leddy sail hae a' that she craves, whilk is consistent wi' her safe-keeping."

"And certainly her friends would ask no more."

"What would her leddyship like to begin wi'?"

"She is to remain here for a week; therefore she would like to have her cell fitted up comfortably. She will want a piece of carpeting to cover the floor; some nice fine bedding and bed linen; a toilet service of china; a single dinner and tea service of china; and a silver fork and spoon. Can you recollect all these articles?"

"What for no?"

"But stay, I forgot; she will want a small table and an easy-chair and footstool. Can you remember them all?"

"Ilk a ane!"

"Twenty pounds, I should think, would cover the whole expense. Here is the money; take it and send out and get the things as soon as you can," said Mrs. MacDonald, putting two ten-pound notes in the hand of the dame.

"I'll has them all in by twal' o' the clock," answered the dame zealously. "Be guid till us! The Honorable Mrs. Dugald! Yon quean! Who'd hae thocht it? But what will be the reason they pit the bonny leddy in prison? It's wonderfu'! It canna be for ony misdeed?"

"No, dame, it is for no misdeed. Ah! you have not read history, or you would know that ladies of the highest rank, even queens and princesses, have been sometimes put in prison."

"Guid be guid till us! For what crime, gin your leddyship pleases?"

"For no crime at all. They have been accused of treason, or conspiracy, or something."

"And sic will be the case wi' this puir leddy?"

"Yes," said Mrs. MacDonald, whose regard for the truth was not of the strictest description.

"And what did they do wi' the puir queens?"

"Cut off their heads."

"Hech! that was awfu'! And what will they do wi' this puir leddy?"

"Release her after a while, because they can prove nothing against her, and because she has powerful friends."

"Eh, but that's guid."

"And those friends will well reward such of the officers of the prison as shall be kind to her during her incarceration," said Mrs. MacDonald meaningly. "And now I will trouble you to unlock the door and admit me for a few minutes to see Mrs. Dugald."

"Surely, me leddy," said the dame, with alacrity.

When Mrs. MacDonald found herself once more alone with her friend she said:

"You will have everything you may require for your comfort in the course of a few hours; and you will have no more trouble from the insolence of your attendant. I have arranged all that. And now, my dear, I am going to see the viscount. What message have you for him?"

"None at all. I hate him; he has brought me to this! And he deceived me about the black woman's death and nearly frightened me into illness. Ah! the beast!" exclaimed Faustina, with a vehemence of spite that quite astounded her visitor.

"My dear," she said, after she had in some degree recovered her composure and collected her faculties, "that there is something very dreadful in this arrest no one can doubt; some charge of kidnaping in which you are both said to be implicated. But let us hope that the charge will be disproved; let us say that it will; in which case, will it be well for you to quarrel with the viscount? Think of it, and send him some kind message."

"I cannot think, and I will not send him any message," persisted
Faustina.

"Then I must think for you. Good-by for a little while, my pet. I will be with you again before I leave town," said Mrs. MacDonald, as she left the cell.

She proceeded immediately to the warden's office, and requested permission to visit the Viscount Vincent in his cell.

"Auld Saundie Gra'am," as he was called, beckoned the turnkey of the ward in which the viscount was confined, and ordered him to conduct the lady to Lord Vincent's cell. The man took down his bunch of keys and, with a bow, turned and preceded Mrs. MacDonald upstairs to a corridor on the second floor, flanked each side with grated doors.

The visitor followed her conductor up the whole length of this corridor to a corner door, which he unlocked to admit the visitor. As soon as she passed in he locked the door on her and remained waiting on the outside.

Mrs. MacDonald found herself in the presence of Lord Vincent. As the cell occupied by the viscount was in the angle of the building it possessed the advantage of two small windows, one with a southern and one with a western outlook. And the sun shone in all day long, giving it a more cheerful aspect than usually belongs to such dreary places. It was furnished with the usual hard narrow bed and rusty iron stove. Besides this, it had the unusual convenience of a chair, upon which the viscount sat, and a table at which he wrote.

In one corner of the cell was old Cuthbert, kneeling down over an open trunk from which he was unpacking his master's effects. As Mrs. MacDonald entered the viscount arose, bowed, and handed her to the solitary chair with as much courtly grace as though he had been doing the honors of his own drawing-room.

"I find you more comfortable, or rather, as I should say, less uncomfortable, than I found Mrs. Dugald, poor child," said the visitor, after she sank into a seat.

"Yes, thanks to the chance that left my pocketbook in my pocket," answered the prisoner, with a defiant smile, as he seated himself on the side of the cot.

"I found her with scarcely the decent necessities of life; but I have sent out to purchase for her what is needful, poor angel."

The smile died out of the viscount's face, which became pale, cold, and hard as marble. He made no reply.

"She sent you many kind messages," began Mrs. MacDonald; but the viscount interrupted her.

"Madam," he said, "I wish never to hear that woman's name mentioned in my hearing again."

"Eh, but that is strange! You will have had a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding! I tell you, madam, that her base cowardice, her shameful treachery, and her utter selfishness have disgusted me beyond measure."

"Eh, me! friends should na quarrel that length either. You have both had your tempers severely tried. When you get out of this trouble you will be reconciled to each other."

"Never! I loathe that woman! And if I were free to-day, my first act should be to hurry to Castle Cragg and bar the doors against her re- entrance there. And my second should be to send all her traps after her."

Finding at length that it was worse than useless to speak one word in favor of Faustina while the viscount was in his present mood of mind, Mrs. MacDonald turned the conversation by:

"Well, my lord, I hope you have taken proper precautions for your defense at the preliminary examination."

"I have engaged counsel, who is even now at work upon my case."

"And I trust, my lord, that you have summoned the earl. His presence here would be a tower of strength to you."

"I am aware of that. I do not, however, know exactly where to put my hand down upon my father. I telegraphed to his London bankers to-day to know his address. The answer came that he was at St. Petersburg at the last advices. I shall cause a telegram to be sent to him there, in the care of our minister. It may or may not find him."

"And now, my lord, what can I do for you?" said Mrs. MacDonald, rising.

"Nothing, whatever, my dear madam, except to return to the castle and remain there and keep it warm for me against I get back," said the viscount courteously, rising to see his visitor to the door of the cell—a distance of eight feet from the spot where they stood.

Mrs. MacDonald went back to the cell of Faustina, where she remained until the comforts she had sent her were brought in. Then she superintended their arrangement, and even assisted with her own hands in the laying down of the strip of carpet, the making of the bed, and the adjusting of the table.

"There, my dear," she said, when all was done; "I think you are now as tidy and as comfortable as it is possible to be in such a place as this."

"Thank you," said Faustina; "but since you have been in here this last time you have not once mentioned Lord Vincent's name. I suppose you have a reason for your reticence. I suppose he has been speaking ill of me. It would be like him, to bring me into this trouble and then malign me."

"No, my darling, he has not breathed a syllable of reproach against you. He has spoken of you most considerately. He has charged me with many affectionate messages to you," said this disinterested peacemaker, whose personal interests were all at stake in the quarrel between the viscount and his fellow-prisoner.

"I don't want to hear his messages. I hate the sound of his name,
and I wish I had never seen the sight of his face. But, Mrs.
MacDonald, I thank you for the kindness you have shown me," said
Faustina.

Mrs. MacDonald kissed her by way of answer. And then she sent out and ordered a luxurious little dinner, which was promptly brought and served in the cell. And after dinner they had a dessert of fruit, and after that coffee, just as they bad been accustomed to have these things at Castle Cragg.

Coffee cup in hand, Mrs. MacDonald remained chatting with her friend until the hour arrived for locking up the prison for the night. Then, with a promise to return the next day, and to come every day, she took leave and departed, returning to Castle Cragg in the family carriage, driven by old Cuthbert.

This day was a fair sample of all the days passed in prison by the Viscount Vincent and Mrs. Dugald up to the time of the preliminary examination before the magistrate.

The viscount occupied himself with writing, making notes for his defense, or holding consultation with his counsel. As he had plenty of ready money, he did not want any comfort, convenience, or luxury that money could provide. The earl, his father, however, did not arrive, and had not even been heard from.

Faustina passed her days in prison in eating, drinking, sleeping, and repining. Mrs. MacDonald came in every day to see her, and always stayed and dined with her. Mrs. MacDonald rather liked the daily airing she got in her ride to and fro between the castle and the prison. She liked also the epicurean dinners that Faustina would buy and pay for, and thus she was a miracle of constancy and fidelity.

Old dame Ferguson was their attendant. She also was bought with money. And from having been the arrogant mistress of her prisoner, she was now the humble slave of her "leddyship,"—that being the title to which she had advanced Mrs. Dugald.

Thus the days passed, bringing at length the important morning upon which the preliminary examination was to be held, in which it was to be decided whether these prisoners should be honorably discharged or whether they should be committed to jail to stand their trial upon the charge of kidnaping and conspiracy.

The Earl of Hurstmonceux had not yet been heard from; but the Viscount Vincent had prepared himself with the best defense possible to be got up in his case.

Judge Merlin and his witnesses had been duly notified to appear; and they were now in town, lodging at the very house from which the prisoners obtained their recherche meals.