distance from her husband, where she was out of his sight.

"I wish," Mr. Strafford said, "you could tell me exactly what you were
doing the day they brought you here."

"I was sleeping," Christian answered. "I lay under the bush, and went to
sleep; and then they came and woke me, and brought me here. I want air!"
he cried, suddenly changing his tone, and springing up, he rushed to the
grated window, and seemed to gasp for breath. The small lattice stood
open, but the prisoner, devoured by fever, could not be satisfied with
such coolness as came in through it. He seized the iron bars with
trembling hands and tried to shake them; then finding it useless, went
back to his chair, and covering his face, burst into tears.

Mrs. Costello was instantly at his side. In her strange, short married
life she had given no caresses to her tyrant; now, upon this miserable
wreck, she lavished all the compassionate tenderness of her heart. Mr.
Strafford stood by helpless, yielding to the woman her natural place of
comforter. For a moment, as she held his head upon her bosom and laid
her cool soft hand upon his burning forehead, Christian seemed to
recognize her; he looked up into her face piteously, and once or twice
repeated to himself, "Mary, Mary," but memory would not help him
further. She soothed him, however, much as if he had been some wretched
sick child, and after a time persuaded him to lie down on his bed,
where, almost immediately, he fell asleep.

So they left him, and in going out, heard from the jailer that he often
slept thus for hours together--rarely eating, and asking only for water
and air.