"Miss Denville," said the latter, turning to Claire, "as we are about to discuss business matters about counsel and your father's defence, would you like to leave us?" "No," said Denville quickly, as he drew Claire's hand through his arm, and shook his head. "You will pardon me, gentlemen, but in the little space of time I am allowed to see visitors, I should like to keep my child by my side. Gentlemen--Mr Barclay--Mr Linnell--half an hour ago I said that I had no friends. I was wrong--I thank you for coming. God bless you!" "Why, of course you had friends, Denville," cried Barclay. "You don't suppose because a man's hard and fast over money matters, that he has no bowels of compassion, do you? But now, business. About counsel for your defence?" "I had already discussed the matter with my daughter, gentlemen. Counsel! It is useless. I need none." "Need none, Mr Denville?" cried Linnell quickly. "Pray think of what you are saying. You must have legal help." Claire darted a grateful look at Linnell, and then drew back with pain depicted in her countenance, mingled with pride and mortification as she saw the coldness in his manner towards her. "I must repeat what I said, Mr Linnell," said Denville in a low, pained voice. "I want no counsel. I will have none, but I thank you all the same, Mr Barclay. Claire, my child, you will pardon me. I must speak with Mr Barclay." Claire shrank into one corner of the cell, her brow drawn with the pain inflicted upon her as her father kept reverting to his old displays of deportment and mincing ways--ways that had become so habitual that even now, incongruous as they were, he could not quite throw them off. "You need not go, Mr Linnell," he continued, "that is if you will bear with the pain of listening to a dying man's request. We have never been friends, sir, but I am your debtor now for your kindly act. My dear Barclay, the little drama of my poor life is nearly over; the curtain is about to fall. You have known me long--my little ambitious hopes and disappointments. I cannot say to my child there is a home for her with her sister; will you help her when--you know what I would say?" "Denville, old fellow, I don't know what to say to this," said Barclay quickly. "It's a mystery to me. Damn it, sir, I can't believe you killed that old woman even now. I want to get you counsel who will clear you, sir, and throw the deed on to whoever did it--some one unknown." "Hush!--hush! Pray hush!" cried Denville, shuddering. "We are wasting time. Barclay--my daughter." "My dear old fellow," said the money-lender quickly, "I told you that my wife had gone on to your place to see Miss Claire there. Don't you be afraid for her. She has a friend in Mrs B who will never fail her. Friend? She will prove a mother. Don't you trouble about Miss Claire. There's only one obstacle to her having a happy home, and that's me, and--"