With all possible consideration and gentleness the old negro preacher broke the intelligence of Valentine's imprisonment to Fannie. But, alas! if all fateful antecedents had not led her to anticipate this consequence, what further possible preparation could fit her to receive such intelligence? And, indeed, in any event, what preparation would soften such calamity? Poor Fannie's frame was very delicate, and her heart by many blows had become physically feeble, and was, at best, a very imperfect instrument of her will. Had it not been so, the poor girl might have better borne up; as it was, she succumbed to the new blow, and a night of dangerous illness followed. Yet, the next morning Fannie insisted on leaving her bed, and though apparently more dead than alive, and having to be supported between Phædra and old Elisha, she went to the prison to see Valentine. All prisons are, of course, wretched places; but the jail of M---- was one of the most wretched of its kind. Comparatively small, shamefully overcrowded, close, ill-ventilated and pestilential, it insured nothing but the safe custody of the bodies of its miserable inmates. Evidently reform had not even looked upon its outer walls, far less opened one of its doors or windows. For greater security Valentine had been confined in the condemned cell. A slight irregularity, but one of which no one had the right to complain. Although, under circumstances less tragic it must have seemed ludicrous to associate the graceful and almost girlish delicacy of poor Valentine's figure with danger to the security of bolts and bars and prison walls. Howbeit, in the condemned cell Valentine was placed, and there Fannie and her companions found him. Valentine received them with great composure, that was only slightly disturbed when Fannie, upon first seeing him, threw herself, with a cry of passionate sorrow, upon his bosom. When the turnkey had left the cell, and locked them all in together, Valentine addressed himself to soothing Fannie. And after a while, favored by the exhaustion that followed her vehement emotion, he succeeded in quieting her. After a little conversation, the old preacher invited all to join him in prayer, and, kneeling down, offered up a fervent petition for the divine mercy on the prisoner. Through the whole of the interview, all were impressed by the perfect composure and cheerfulness of Valentine. He seemed like a man who had cast a great weight from his breast, or in some other way had been relieved from a heavy burden. Though his manner was perfectly free from any charge of reprehensible levity, there was certainly an elasticity of spirit in all he said or did, that was as strange as it was entirely sincere and unaffected. Was this because he felt that he had nothing further to hope or fear, and trouble had ceased with uncertainty? Whatever was the cause, his mood happily influenced others, and they grew quiet and cheerful in his company.