It was Anna who had spoken to Sir Jacques, and suggested the sleeping draught which had finally broken that evil waking spell--Anna who, far more than Rose's own mother, had sustained and heartened the poor child during those dreadful days of reaction which followed on the brave front she had shown at the crisis of the operation. And now Anna had to face the horrible fact that it was she who had brought this dreadful suffering, this--this lifelong misfortune, on the being she loved more than she had ever loved anything in the world. If this was true, and in her heart she knew it to be true, then she did indeed deserve to hang. A shameful death would be nothing in comparison to the agony of fearing that her darling might come to learn the truth. * * * * * The door of the cell suddenly opened, and a man came in, carrying a tray in his hands. On it were a jug of coffee, some milk, sugar, bread and butter, and a plateful of cold meat. He put it down by the old woman's side. "Look here!" he said. "Your lady, Mrs. Guthrie as she is now, thought you'd rather have coffee than tea--so we've managed to get some for you." And, as Anna burst into loud sobs, "There, there!" he said good-naturedly. "I daresay you'll be all right--don't you be worrying yourself." He lowered his voice: "Though there are some as says that what they found in your back kitchen this morning was enough to have blown up all Witanbury sky high! Quite a good few don't think you knew anything about it--and if you didn't, you've nothing to fear. You'll be treated quite fair; so now you sit up, and make a good supper!" She stared at him without speaking, and he went on: "You won't be having this sort of grub in Darneford Gaol, you know!" As she again looked at him with no understanding, he added by way of explanation: "After you've been charged to-morrow, it's there they'll send you, I expect, to wait for the Assizes." "So?" she said stupidly. "You just sit up and enjoy your supper! You needn't hurry over it. I shan't be this way again for an hour or so." And then he went out and shut the door. For almost the first time in her life, Anna Bauer did not feel as if she wanted to eat good food set before her. But she poured out a cup of coffee, and drank it just as it was, black and bitter, without putting either milk or sugar to it. Then she stood up. The coffee had revived her, cleared her brain, and she looked about her with awakened, keener perceptions. It was beginning to get dark, but it was a fine evening, and there was still light enough to see by. She looked up consideringly at the old-fashioned iron gas bracket, placed in the middle of the ceiling, just above the wooden chair on which her gracious lady had sat during the last part of their conversation. Anna took from the bench where she had been sitting the crochet in which she had been interrupted.