"I'd give every cent I have to see him walk out right now. I suppose you were young once yourself. Were you ever in love, Mr. Cowles?" "Yes," said the sheriff, slowly. "I was--I am yet, some. I can remember back. I don't believe I ought to let you in. But I'm afraid I'll have to, because you are young--like we all was once--and because you're in love. Did anyone see you coming over here?" "I don't know; but all the town knows about him and me. Well, let them." "You must promise not to help him in any way to get out--not to do anything you hadn't ought to do, nor against the law." "I give you my promise," said Anne Oglesby. Without more speech the sheriff turned and led the way down the stone-paved hall to the short cement stairs which made down upon the half-floor below, at the level of the cells. He turned the switch of an electric light, so that they might see the better in the hall. There was but one tenant, and from beyond his door there came no sound, not even when Cowles unlocked the iron-shod door and stood, his revolver easy at his belt. As Anne entered she saw Don Lane sitting on the edge of the narrow pallet, looking at the door. He had not risen. He had been sitting with his head in his hands. He groaned now. "My God!" said he. "Anne! What made you come?" [Illustration: "Anne! What made you come?"] The sheriff stepped within the door at the side of Anne Oglesby. "I'd stay about ten minutes or so if I was you," said he, and tried to look unconscious and impersonal. Don Lane rose now, but stood still apart. "Why do you say that, Don?" asked Anne, stepping closer to him. "Didn't you know I'd come?" She reached out her hands to him, and he caught both of them in his. "I ought to have known you would," said he, "and I know you oughtn't to. It makes it very hard. I said good-by to you--this morning--today." "Won't you kiss me--again, Don?" asked Anne Oglesby. He kissed her again, his face white. "It's hard to know you for so little a while," said he, his young face drawn, his voice trembling--"awfully hard. What time there's left to me--I'll have it all to remember you. But we must never meet after this. It's over." "Don, if I thought it was all over, do you suppose I'd let you kiss me now?" "It's like heaven," said he. "It's all I'll have to remember." "A long time, Don--a very long time!" "I can't tell. They are not apt to lose much time with my case. The only crime of my life was in ever lifting my eyes to you, Anne. Oh, you know I'd never have done that if I had known--what I found out yesterday. But then I've said good-by to you." "_I_ didn't say good-by, Don!" He half raised a hand, shaking his head sadly. "You must forget me, no matter what happens--no matter whether I am cleared or not. I'll never be the coward to ask you to remember me--that wouldn't be right. I'm beyond all hope, whichever way it goes." "I've come tonight, Don," said she, quietly, "to see about your lawyer."