"Never heard of such a thing in my life, damme if I did! Um--um! I crave your pardon, my dear, but strong feelings have a way of finding their vent in strong language. And young Dare did that, did he? Well, well, we must see what can be done for him when his trial comes on. Such stuff as he seems made of is too good for the gallows. And now I will write you the promised note. I'm afraid you'll be a little later than the regulation hour for seeing prisoners, but maybe Jeffs will strain a point for once in a way. At any rate, I'll ask him to do so." CHAPTER XXVI. "FOR MY SAKE." The late September afternoon was closing rapidly in when John Dyce helped his mistress to alight from her mare, which had been reined up close to the great, black, bolt-studded gates of Lanchester jail. It was a rare thing for those gates to be opened except for the admission of prisoners, the usual means of entrance and exit being by a postern in the wall no great distance away. On this door Miss Baynard now proceeded to give three resounding blows with the huge iron knocker. Half a minute later a small wicket was opened, and a hirsute face peered out into the glowing darkness. "Be good enough to have this note given to Captain Jeffs without a minute's delay," said Miss Baynard in her clear, imperious tones. "It is of the utmost importance. I will wait here while you obtain an answer." With that she handed in Sir James's note at the wicket, but on the top of it lay a shining guinea. There was a grunt, and the wicket was shut. While awaiting an answer, Nell drew from one of her pockets a long diaphanous black veil, which she proceeded to fix round the brim of her hat and to fasten in a knot behind in such a fashion that it came halfway down her face, leaving nothing of it exposed save her upper lip, her mouth, and her chin. The wait seemed an intolerably long one, and her nerve was beginning to give way a little, when the wicket was opened for the second time, and the same hirsute face made its appearance. "The governor says it's beyont the hour for visitors, and that ye should have come earlier; but as ye're a friend o' Sir James Dalrymple's he'll admit ye. He sends word that he's sorry not to come and speak to ye hisself, but he's got company at dinner, and can't leave th' table." Such, in the gruffest of tones, was the doorkeeper's welcome message. Then the wicket was closed again, and half a minute later the narrow black door had opened to admit Nell. She slipped in like a shadow, the postern was shut with a clash, and she found herself in a bare, flagged ante-room or entrance-hall, with three or four doors opening out of it, and dimly lighted with a couple of guttering candles. Here was a second man, like the first, in uniform, who carried in one hand a jingling bunch of keys, and to whom the doorkeeper introduced her with the remark, "This is Willyam, mum, who will show ye the way if ye will please to follow him."