But Lord Vincent swallowed only a little tea, and then pushed the food from him. The turnkey took away the service, locked the prisoner in for the night, and went to the warden's office. "Weel, Donald, what is it, mon?" inquired the warden. "An ye please, sir, I'm no easy in my mind about me Laird; Vincent," said the turnkey. "Why, what ails me laird?" "Why, sir, he is joost like ane distraught!" "On, aye, it will be the confession o' the malefactor, Frisbie, that has fasht him; as weel it may!" "He's war nor fasht; he looks joost likely to do himsel' a mischief," said Christie, shaking his head. "Heeh! an that be sae we maun be carefu'! Are there any sharp-edged or pointed instruments in his cell?" "Naught but his penknife. I was minded to bring it away, but I did na." "Eh, then we will pay him a visit in his cell," said the warden, rising. The turnkey led the way upstairs, and they entered the prisoner's cell. The viscount, who was sitting at the table with his head leaning upon his hand, looked up at this unusual visit. His face was deadly pale; but beyond that the warden noticed nothing amiss in his appearance, and that paleness was certainly natural in a prisoner suffering from confinement and anxiety. There is usually but scant ceremony observed between jailer and prisoner; nevertheless, in this case Auld Saundie Gra'ame actually apologized for his unseasonable visit. "Me laird," he said, "I hae a verra unpleasant duty to perform here. Donald reports that ye are no that weel in your mind. And sic being the case, I maun, in regard to your ain guid and safety, see till the removal of a' edged tools and sic like dangerous weapons." "Take away what you please; I have no objection," said the viscount indifferently. Whereupon the warden and turnkey made a thorough search of the room; took away his razors and scissors from his dressing-case, and his penknife and his eraser from his writing desk. "I shall take guid care of a' these articles, me laird, and return them to you safe, ance you are out o' these wa's," said the warden. The viscount made no reply. "And ye maun ken that I only remove them to prevent ye doin' yoursel' a mischief in your despondency," he continued. The viscount smiled with a strange, derisive, triumphant expression; but still did not reply in words. "And gin ye will heed guid counsel, ye will na gi'e yoursel' up to despair. Despair is an unco ill counselor, and the de'il is aye ready to tak' advantage of its presence. Guid nicht, me laird, and guid rest till ye," said Auld Saundie, as he withdrew himself and his subordinate from the cell, and locked his prisoner in finally for the night. When he got back to his office he summoned all of his officers around him and spoke to them.