as the day wore on, mistress keziah came several times into the room, nodding with grim satisfaction as she noted the steady breathing, and the natural look on the sleeper's face. the afternoon sunlight was sloping through the trees when, after the hour's rest she always took in her chamber at this time, she again opened her niece's door. simone rose quickly from her seat by the bed, and joined the lady where she stood.

'is it well that my mistress should sleep on thus, madame? she has scarcely stirred since you were here before!' simone spoke in undisguised anxiety.

'excellent! excellent!' said mistress keziah. 'the potion was a secret of my grandmother's. i have never known it fail. the brew your mistress drank would make a strong man sleep for twelve hours. in her case, youth will assist in the fight. once the clock turns, mark my words, she will sleep for another twelve hours, and will wake like a little child.'

simone started. 'another twelve hours! oh! what shall i do?'

the words slipped from her before she quite realised their import, and as she met mistress keziah's look of amazement she changed colour.

'well,' said mistress keziah, 'and why should she not sleep?'

simone held a swift parley with herself as she stood with downcast eyes before the old woman who was so like, yet so unlike, her sister. with lady fairfax, simone would have known at once what course to take.

'i am waiting,' said mistress keziah.

simone looked up at her, her dark lashes heavy with tears; her lips trembled.

'you are yourself scarcely fit to be out of bed,' said mistress keziah. 'come into my chamber a minute. alison will stay here.'

'but,' faltered simone, 'if mademoiselle should wake?'

'when mademoiselle does wake, she will be herself again. and alison is a comely maid. i understand 'tis from my own face you would protect her.'

a smile broke over the angular features, and to simone's amazement, mistress keziah passed her arm round her shoulders, and drew her across the gallery. the comely alison, sitting at the needlework table, was sent to marion's chamber. with her own hands mistress keziah poured out a glass of cordial and tendered it to simone. she took a seat in a high-backed chair by the window, and beckoned simone to a stool at her side. the girl's fingers trembled as she held the glass.

'you are in trouble,' said mistress keziah, a gentleness in her voice which simone had not heard before, 'and so is my niece. a burden shared is a burden eased. can you not tell me? i should not have asked for your confidence, but mistress marion said she would tell me to-day, and i gather there is a question of urgency. if you think 'twould be better for me to know to-day—if i could do anything—— do not be afraid of me, mon enfant. i am an old woman and quite—quite harmless,' she finished with a smile that lay warmly on her wintry face.

simone buried her face in her slim, fine hands. then looking up, brushing away the tears, she spoke. 'i think i must tell you, madame. i—i cannot bear it. i know mademoiselle intended to tell you everything, and i will risk her displeasure in speaking myself.' she glanced towards the closed door, and dropped her voice. ''tis thus——' she hesitated a moment, then made a sudden plunge. 'master roger trevannion is here, a prisoner, in exeter. he warned a friend—an old school friend, madame—that he was in danger of arrest by jeffreys' men. master roger was betrayed. the friend got away, but master roger was taken. a girl of the village wrote a letter to kensington, warning mademoiselle that she feared trouble was coming, before this happened. then another letter to say master roger was arrested. on the journey here we learned that he is condemned to death, and there are but a few days of grace.'

not a muscle stirred in mistress keziah's face as simone went from sentence to sentence of her story. when the girl paused, she sat looking fixedly through the window for several minutes. simone watching her, saw an expression of mingled sorrow and scorn settle on her features. simone's heart sank. a sense of unutterable foreboding assailed her. was the worst still to come—mistress keziah's enmity?

'you will see, madame,' she presently ventured in trembling tones, stating the case for her dear lady as best she might, 'mademoiselle felt she was the only one who might be able to help. monsieur the admiral she dared not appeal to. a magistrate has but to see the course of the law fulfilled. and mademoiselle has a sore heart for her playmate. there is no one she can trust. hence mademoiselle has come herself. you knew master roger, madame?'

mistress keziah looked hastily down at the girl. 'i have no blame for my niece,' she said abruptly. 'i was thinking of her father.' simone remembered marion's words: 'she quarrelled with my father on the question of my upbringing.'

for some time neither spoke. then simone ventured again: 'you knew master roger, madame?'

the hard old face softened. before mistress keziah's eyes was a vision of the tall youth of whom she had heard so much. he had never come to the house while she was at garth; she had never spoken with him save once, when she was walking with the admiral, and roger had ridden by. in her heart of hearts the old lady had liked the boy, but she had chosen to lecture her brother on the foolishness of allowing marion to have such a playmate: precisely the same word as simone had used had come from the admiral in describing the boy. and now the playmate was in the dark shadow, and marion was heart-broken.

all mistress keziah's theories and denunciations fell away. the sense of romance which had been sleeping for a generation stirred, reminding her of other days, of her own youth, when some one else, just such another, had come her way and gone his way, banished by her pride. the storm that had sunk his vessel had made shipwreck of her own happiness, but no one had ever known. she saw the years of her life as they had gone by. should such a fate be marion's? she sighed. simone, watching her face, saw the expression changing, and knew the day was won. she lifted the wrinkled hand to her lips. 'you will be kind to her, madame? you will not be angry?' she implored. 'you are the only friend she—she has.'

mistress keziah brought herself back to the present. she smiled down at the wistful face, and simone was comforted. mistress keziah fell into deep thought.

'does lady fairfax know of this?'

'no, madame. she is at tunbridge with her majesty; there was not time for us to go or to send. mademoiselle wrote to her, though, telling her why she had left london in such haste. she must have had the letter ere this.'

'who betrayed him?' presently asked the old lady.

''twas said by the fisher girl that a mademoiselle——'

'elise!' cried mistress keziah, and her hand smote the arm of her chair. 'i knew it! i knew it!'

simone looked perplexed as mistress keziah got up.

'go and lie down, simone,' she said, her old brusque manner returning. 'i must think. stay! has any one any inkling of the reason of your mistress's visit to this house?'

'no one, madame. the menservants think mademoiselle is ailing, and would rest here a few days.'

'excellent. you know, of course,' said mistress keziah, falling back into the whispering tones, 'that should this be noised abroad, the fate that overtook poor master roger will fall on your mistress.'

simone shivered. 'no one knows, madame, i assure you.'

'and on myself, and on you,' relentlessly pursued the lady. 'there is no mercy to temper justice in these days. well, well, no need to say more on that.'

'madame—just one thing—where—where is the prison?'

'ah! i bethink me of another thing. how did you learn the lad was condemned?'

simone hesitated, and her colour rose. but there was no retreat. in a few words she told of marion's search in the courier's saddlebags, contriving to get into her short story a sense of the danger the girl had run. mistress keziah's eyes gleamed, but the bolt of wrath simone dreaded did not fall.

'she is her father's daughter!' she said abruptly. 'as foolish as she is fearless. tell me the exact words: was it exeter gaol, or the castle?'

'gaol, madame.'

mistress keziah leaned back in her chair. 'ah!'

simone waited.

'if you would just tell me, madame?'

'from the most easterly chamber yonder, leaving the gallery and going along the far passage, into a room that is rarely entered, you will get a glimpse of the gaol and the yard. now go. go quietly. do not arouse the servants' curiosity, and when you have satisfied your own, remember i told you to rest.'

simone gave one hasty glance into marion's room, then set out to explore. with the doors opening on to the gallery she was by this time familiar: mistress keziah's bedroom, dressing-room and sitting-room occupied one side, on the other came marion's two rooms, another bedroom, another sitting-room. in the corner of the gallery were the double doors that led into the passage mistress keziah had mentioned.

with a hasty glance around that told her she was unobserved, simone quietly slipped through the double doors. the unmistakable odour of tenantless rooms greeted her as she went along, glancing into the chambers she passed. the passage ran almost due east. on one hand the windows looked cheerlessly out on to stables and coach-houses, and the wall which divided the grounds from the road beyond. behind the wall rose the slope of castle hill, with its grey stone walks and cluster of buildings at the summit. the rooms on the southern side were filled with the afternoon sun, and caught the green of the garden trees.

simone entered the last room, paused, then looked back along the landing. mistress keziah had said that the end chamber faced the east: the single, half-shuttered window of this room looked north. could there be another passage branching off?

she looked round the room again. behind the door was a smaller one, looking like that of a closet. with difficulty simone forced the door open, and saw in the dim light a narrow winding flight of steps. with her skirts tucked round her knees, simone climbed the uneven dusty stair, and presently stood in a small dark chamber under the eaves. it was empty, dusty, foul from non-usage. light streaming in through the crevices of a shutter outlined a single tiny window set low—the eastward wall. gasping a little in the closeness of the air, simone struggled with the rusty bolts, and presently shot back the shutters and opened the pane. it was not more than a foot wide and two feet deep.

as she knelt down and peered through, simone could scarcely breathe for the quickness of her heart beats. directly below her ran the length of the rambling garden, ending in thick, tall trees. a little to the left, simone caught sight of a grim-looking building which needed no explaining. she leaned forward, putting her head through the little opening. the south and west parts of the gaol were clearly visible, being indeed not more than a hundred yards away, only separated from mistress keziah's garden by the cobbled road. a thick high wall ran close up to the south side, on the west and north widening to enclose a bare foul patch, strewn with refuse, on which the sun fell with baking heat: the gaol yard. a faint odour seemed to strike the girl's nostrils, and she shivered as she remembered the dark stories of prison life, of uncleanness and gaol fever which from time to time had come to her ears. she no longer wondered why mistress keziah lived in the west wing of her house.

over several grated windows simone looked, one by one, but could see no signs of the life of the interior. then, realising there might be a guard-room down there, whose windows looked out on the yard, and whence to a curious observer she might be visible, she withdrew her head. crouching on the worm-eaten boards, she found a position that enabled her, unseen from without, to watch the prison and the yard.

as simone waited, wondering if the prisoners would come out, there was the sound of shuffling feet, and from the shadow at the end of the building a man came in sight, carbine on shoulder. he paced the length of the gaol, turned, and was again lost in the shade. presently simone saw him walking the length of the yard. then the footsteps were silent awhile.

simone crouched until her limbs were aching and she dared stay no longer, lest alison should seek her in her own room. but no face or form rewarded her vigil; only the gaunt walls and mocking bars showed, hideously bare in the sunlight. behind which of those narrow apertures was the condemned youth hidden?

presently the girl rose, and cautiously crept back along the passage. she waited several minutes behind the double doors, and looked carefully along the gallery and into the hall below before she gained her own room. then, bathing her face and hands, and removing all traces of dust from her dress, she went into marion's chamber. alison rose with a smile, and beckoned her past the sleeping figure to the farther door.

'my mistress has gone to make a visit,' she informed simone. 'have you rested well?'

'very well, thank you.'

'the young mistress is sleeping bravely. her'll be fresh as a daisy come the morning.'

with her usual gentle politeness, simone thanked the girl for her services, and closed the door as she went across the gallery to the servants' stairs. taking up her old position by the bed, simone looked sorrowfully at the face on the pillow.

marion was in the same position. her breathing was that of a child; the strained lines had gone from her face. simone could have cried aloud on the unkind kindness of fate in ordering her healing so. by the morrow there would be only two clear days left, the third should see the courier returned. as she thought of the gaol, with its impassable walls hiding the sinister, watching shadow, the stout-barred window niches, simone felt sick at heart. who could break through such barriers? two frail girls and an old woman?

sitting idle was intolerable. simone stole into mistress keziah's empty room, and taking up the sheet alison had been stitching, bore it back to marion's chamber. for a couple of hours she sat thus, and it seemed, as each quarter chimed from the church beyond, that the next would be unbearable.

a kitchen-maid brought in her supper, with a message from mistress keziah that she would speak with simone the next morning. so that was the end of another day.

the westering sunlight sloped across the hill, and the golden radiance fell on simone's pale face as she sat before the generously piled dishes. she drank some milk, and ate a little bread and honey, afterwards resting motionless in a kind of mental and physical apathy. presently she roused herself, and in unutterable weariness and despondency sought her own bed. for the first time she understood fully just what the strain of waiting had been to marion. rather than wait another day, simone vowed, she would scale those prison walls herself. her desperate fancy dwelt on the picture until, towards midnight, a restless sleep stole over her. she dreamed of horsemen innumerable bearing down towards her, each carrying a warrant of death. as they neared, the lane down which they rode—the same lane where the coach had foundered—broke into prison yards and opened again. all through her sleep the dream seemed to come and go, making a lifetime of its passing. at length, in a sudden access of horror, she saw that one of the riders charged into her room. she woke with a scream in the grey dawn, to find marion standing by her bed, shaking her arm.