The rest of the day was spent by Charles Tyrrell almost in solitude. The governour visited him once, and hoped he had everything to make him comfortable; and the turnkeys bringing in his food, and inquiring if he wanted anything, produced the only interruptions to his own sad thoughts, till about half past nine o'clock at night, when the governor came in to say that he had just had a note from Mr. Morrison saying, there was a lady at the Crown inn, wished very much to see Sir Charles Tyrrell, if it were but for a few minutes. "Good God! it is Lucy," cried Charles Tyrrell, remembering the note that he had given on the preceding day; but he added instantly; "She should not have come at night." "Why you know it pleases many ladies better, sir, replied the governor; for they don't like to be seen coming into a prison, and a crowd is apt to gather about at the gate. But I am sure I have no objection to your seeing her if you like. Mr. Morrison says he does not know who the ladies are; but I dare say that the young lady that we have heard of down at the Manor, is the one that wants to come." "Of course now that she _is_ come," said Charles Tyrrell, "I should like much to see her;" and after a few more words of the same kind, the governor went away to send a message to the inn. In five minutes after, the door was opened by one of the turnkeys, and a female figure entered dressed in the very height of the fashion. She looked round her, with some degree of bewilderment apparently, through the thick black veil that covered her bonnet. But from the dress, from the whole appearance, and from the height, Charles Tyrrell saw at once that it was not Lucy Effingham. He advanced toward her, however, and took her hand, and the turnkey who had paused to witness the meeting, closed the door. The moment he had done so, the veil was lifted, and to Charles Tyrrell's utter surprise, he saw the countenance of the good fisherman's wife, Mrs. Hailes, whose child he had saved from great peril when the boat drifted out to sea. CHAPTER XVIII.