The lock of the door grated again, within half-an-hour of the time when his friendly lawyer left Chandos Winslow. It had a harsh sound to his ear, that heavy lock, whether it opened to admit or give exit to a visitor. It must always be so with a prisoner; for though he may long to see a friendly face, though his heart may yearn for the dear embrace and the look of love, yet there are always sad drawbacks in the anguish, and regret, and fear of those who come, which all seem to speak out in that rough grating sound. "General Tracy is here, Mr. Winslow," said the turnkey, putting in his head, "with a magistrate's order to see you, if you like him to come in." "By all means," answered the captive; "I shall be happy to see him;" and in a minute after the old officer was in the cell. He advanced straight towards Chandos as an old friend, and shook him warmly by the hand; "Well, Mr. Gardener," he said, with a forced laugh, for his heart was sad, though he sought to be cheerful, "see what are the consequences of a whim; but I trust they are not likely to be long as well as heavy--though disagreeable they must be." "No one can tell the result, my dear Sir," answered Chandos. "I feel deeply grateful for your kindness in coming over to see me; but I can assure you I have the cord and the gibbet before my eyes as the very probable termination of what you call a whim, but which I cannot help thinking may deserve a better name." "The cord and the gibbet!" exclaimed General Tracy; "nonsense! I for one feel certain of your innocence; and I trust that the time of judicial murders is past." "Judicial, but not juri-dical, if I may make a sorry jest in sorry circumstances," answered Chandos. "Do you think, General, that there are no innocent men hanged in England even in the present day?"