“Come, you know, McAndrew,” he said, “you are engaged against him. I can scarcely give you admittance to him----” “You can trust me, colonel,” said the detective, quietly. “If he told me straight out that he did it I shouldn’t use the information against him. So far as that goes, he hasn’t once denied it. But you can trust me, colonel. I shan’t do your friend any harm by seeing him. Besides, it is at his request.” Strangely enough, the colonel, upright and honorable gentleman that he was, did not resent the prisoner being described as his friend, but rang the bell for a turnkey, and Mr. McAndrew was conducted to the prisoner’s cell. Some articles of furniture, a table, a chair, and writing materials had been provided by the kind-hearted colonel; and the bed, though plain, was not so uncomfortable as it might have been. Faradeane was sitting on it, with his head resting in his hands; but he rose as the key clicked in the lock and the turnkey opened the door--rose to receive his visitor with the courtesy he would have displayed if it had been his own parlor at The Dell. Mr. McAndrew waited until the door had clanged upon the turnkey. “I hope you are as comfortable as you can be under the circumstances, sir,” he began. “Yes, yes,” said Faradeane, “thanks to Colonel Summerford; he has done everything, has been very kind. I am obliged to you for coming to me so soon,” he went on, his voice sounding sad and anxious, yet strangely calm. “I overheard your inquiry concerning Miss Vanley--I mean Mrs. Bradstone,” he corrected himself with a slight catch in his voice, “and Mr. Bradstone’s reply. Will you tell me what has happened? I have heard nothing since my arrest. Mrs. Bradstone fell at my feet”--he paused a moment--“but I hope that it was nothing more than a fainting fit caused by the shock. Is it true that she is dangerously ill?” With all his effort to keep calm, his hand, which rested on the plain deal table, quivered, and Mr. McAndrew’s keen eyes noted it. “She is very ill and in danger,” replied the detective, watching him, and yet apparently doing nothing of the kind. Faradeane went to the barred window, and looked out upon the prison yard in silence for a moment. “It is my fault,” he said, huskily. “When they told me that they would take me to the Grange on my arrest I thought they would do so quietly, that she should not know--it is all my fault. Miss Vanley is a close and very dear friend of mine,” he added, as if to explain the emotion he suppressed with such difficulty. “I understand,” said McAndrew, slowly. “It was the shock of seeing you in trouble and the story of the murder coming on the excitement of the wedding. You see, she wasn’t to know that you were innocent,” he added, easily and smoothly. “No; she believed it, she believed it!” said Faradeane, unwarily, with a deep sigh. The detective’s eyes twinkled, but only for a second.