herself at liberty to stay at home--to be with her mother up to the
moment of her going to that interview which Mr. Strafford advised, and
to be on the spot at her return to hear without delay whatever its
result might be.

In the afternoon, while the whole town was occupied with the ceremony
which had so deep and painful an interest for everybody, Mrs. Costello
and her faithful friend started for the jail. They said little to each
other on the way, but as they drew near the end of their walk, Mrs.
Costello began to talk about indifferent subjects by way of trying to
lift for a moment the oppressive weight of thought which seemed almost
to stupefy her. But the effort was to little purpose, and by the time
they reached the door of the prison she was so excessively pale, and
looked so faint and ill, that Mr. Strafford almost repented of his
advice. It was too late now, however, to turn back, and all that could
be done was to say, "Take courage; don't betray yourself by your face."
The hint was enough, to one so accustomed to self-restraint; and when
the jailer met them, she had forced herself to look much as usual.

But though she had sufficient command over herself to do this, and even
to join, as much as was necessary, in the short conversation which took
place before they were admitted to the prisoner's cell, she could not
afterwards remember anything clearly until the moment when she followed
Mr. Strafford through a heavy door, and found herself in the presence of
her husband.

Then she seemed suddenly to wake, and the scene before her to flash at
once and ineffaceably into her mind. It was a clean bare room, with a
bed in one corner, and a chair and table in the middle; the stone
walls, the floor and ceiling, all white, and a bright flood of sunshine