He stopped short, for his voice had turned husky, and gripping Denville's hand very tightly, he held it for a few minutes. "God bless her sweet face!" he whispered; "we never believed one of the miserable scandals about her, Denville. But now about yourself." Denville turned away his face, took a couple of steps to the side, and stood with his back to them for a few minutes. Then, turning, with his face wearing a curious look of calm, he laid his hand upon Barclay's arm. "You have taken away the bitterness of death, Barclay," he said in a low voice. "Heaven help me for the weakest of men. I never knew who were my friends." "Then you will let us get counsel for you?" "No, no! I forbid it," said Denville sternly. "Good-bye, Mr Linnell. I thank you. Barclay, God bless you!" His voice trembled as he pressed the money-lender's hand, for the gaoler had opened the door, and was waiting to usher them out. "Claire, my child," he whispered, taking her in his arms, "you will come again. Good-bye now. Good-bye." She clung to him wildly for a few moments, and then, with a look of desolation in her eyes, slowly followed the gaoler and the other visitors along the echoing stone passages to the gate, where Linnell laid his hand upon her arm. Before he could speak there was a rustle of a silk dress, a hurried panting as some one brushed by him, and a voluble voice exclaimed: "They wouldn't let me in, my dear, and I've been waiting for you to come. There, there, there, you and May are coming home along with me, and--" Her voice died away as Linnell stood there, feeling desolate and cold. There was an intense bitterness in his heart, as he told himself that his love for Claire was of a very poor type, that he had been ready to believe ill of her, and let that love become chilled. What had he done now that she was plunged into the very depths of despair? Almost held aloof when he would have given all he had--life itself--to save her from her pain. "I am mad, jealous, weak, and contemptible," he cried to himself at last. "I will go to her and tell her I love her more than ever. It is not too late." He had taken a step to follow, when a hand was laid upon his arm, and Barclay said huskily: "There's a woman for you, Mr Linnell, sir. I often think she ought to have had a better husband. There, the best thing is to let them alone together. You wouldn't think it, Mr Linnell, with me, such a hard nut as I am, but this business has quit upset me. Good-day, sir, good-day." "Good-day, Mr Barclay," said Linnell dreamily; and they were parting, when Barclay said in a low quick whisper: "You may think of some way of helping the old fellow, Mr Linnell. If you do there's any amount of money ready for the lawyers, if you give me a hint. For he's an innocent man, sir. Kill that old woman? Pho! Pooh! Stuff! He couldn't kill a cat!" Volume Three, Chapter XIV. FRED DENVILLE FORWARD.