"Oh, Jo-si-ah, don't say it, dear." "Only to you, my gal. I'm afraid the poor old fellow was trying to-- well, say borrow a few diamonds, and what happened afterwards was an accident." "Oh, my dear! my dear!" "It looks sadly like it." "But this Fred Denville says he did it." "Yes, poor lad, to get clear of his officers, and to save his father's life. That will go for nothing. Soldiers often charge themselves with crimes to get out of the army. That story will never be believed." Morton Denville shivered as he approached the prison, and felt half disposed to turn back as he encountered a couple of men of his regiment; but he mastered his nervousness and walked boldly up to the gate and was admitted. He found his father in much the same despondent attitude as he had occupied when Fred Denville came to the prison, and Morton stood with his lip quivering and breast heaving, looking down for some minutes at the wasted form. "Father," he said at last, but there was no reply, and when the lad went and laid a hand upon his shoulder, the old man did not start, but raised his head in a dazed manner, as if he did not quite realise who it was. Then, recognising him, he rose from his stool, smiling sadly. "You, Morton!" he said. "You have come!" Morton did not answer for a few moments, struggling as he was with intense emotion, and the Master of the Ceremonies looked at him keenly now. His face changed directly, though, as Morton threw his arms round him and stood with his head bowed down upon the old man's shoulder. "I'm glad: very glad. Egad, Morton, my son," said Denville, trying to assume his old parade manner, but with his piping voice quavering, and sounding forced and strained, "you make me feel very proud of you. It is, of course--yes, egad--of course--a very painful thing for a gentleman--an officer--to have to visit--a relative in prison--a man situated as I am--to a man in your position, it is a terrible thing-- and--and you'll pardon me--my son--I could not have felt--er--surprised if you had--stayed away; but--but--you have come; and--God bless you, my boy--my boy." The old man would have sunk upon his seat quivering with emotion, but Morton held him in his clasp. "No, no, father," he said with spirit, "you must not give way. We must meet this trouble like men. You must advise with me. I've been playing the boy too long. There, sit down and let's talk. What shall I do about your trial?" Denville took his son's hand, and looked at him proudly, but he shook his head. "What do you mean, father?" cried Morton, the lad flushing and looking manly as he spoke. "This is no time for indecision. I have seen Mr Barclay and Mr Linnell. They have engaged counsel, and what we want now is your help over your defence." Denville smiled sadly, and again shook his head, "No, my boy, no," he said, "you can do nothing. It is very brave and true of you." "But, father--"