I went to the jail to see Blant this morning,--but was almost sorry that I did so. He sits there in his cell, speechless, despairing, refusing food or rest, hearing and seeing nothing. In vain the jail-keeper and I attempted to talk to him and tell him he must not reproach himself so bitterly, or give way to such utter despair, since he was in no way to blame for the death of his friend. He looked agonizingly beyond us, evidently not conscious that we were talking. The worst of it is that circuit court will not sit here again until early April,--two and a half months, and his suffering must be cruelly protracted. After this visit it was almost impossible for me to go in and talk and read cheerfully to Nucky, and make plausible excuses for Blant's non-appearance, which is worrying him a great deal. "I had news from Trigger yesterday," I told him, "Todd has gone away, so there will probably be peace for a long while." "Where has he gone to?" he asked. "I am unable to say," I replied. _Monday._ Blant continues to refuse all food, and to maintain his terrible silence. He sits with his head in his hands all day long, oblivious of everything around him. The kind-hearted keeper stays in his cell with him at night. "I know he haint in no fix to stand lonesomeness," he said to me to-day; "even if he don't pay no attention to me, I allow it's some comfort to him to have a human nigh." Then he added, "If he haint able to speak out his grief before long, it's liable to strike in and kill him. Something ought to be done to rouse him." "What?" I asked. "Oh, I don't rightly know. But he's turnt loose all holts on life; something to grapple him to it again is needed." Knowing their love for each other, my first thought of course was to bring Nucky; but the terrible story could have only disastrous effects upon him at present, so that is not to be considered. _Thursday._ The mail-carrier stopped at the gate yesterday to say, "I hear tell that Blant haint toch a morsel of vittles sence he shot Rich. Neither has the babe, sence he left it, to speak of,--the pore little creetur just whimps and pines for him continual, and won't scacely tech the food its pap gives it. Minervy Saxby's been over trying to peaceify it,--but in vain. It was allus purely silly about Blant, allowing he's its maw. When a babe gits its mind sot thataway on a proposition, there haint no help for it but to give it what it craves. It's likely to pine away if you don't." I did not tell Blant of this when I stopped by the jail this afternoon,--I hope it will not reach him, as it could only add to his misery. I was thankful when I arrived to find him out in the common room, where all the prisoners stay during the day, even though he sat in a corner and did not seem to see the others.