It's a prison-house, and you're a prisoner charged--"

"Not charged yet, not charged," interrupted Dyck; "but suspected of and
arrested for a crime. I'll fight--before God, I'll fight to the last!
Good-bye, Michael; bring me food and clothes, and send me cold water at
once."

When the door closed softly behind Michael Clones, Dyck sat down on the
bed where many a criminal patriot had lain. He looked round the small
room, bare, unfurnished, severe-terribly severe; he looked at the blank
walls and the barred window, high up; he looked at the floor--it was
discoloured and damp. He reached out and touched it with his hand. He
looked at the solitary chair, the basin and pail, and he shuddered.

"How awful--how awful!" he murmured. "But if it was her father, and if
I killed him"--his head sank low--"if I killed her father!"

"Water, sir."

He looked up. It was the guard with a tin of water and a dipper.




CHAPTER VII

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

"I don't believe he's guilty, mother."