When finally the vehicle stopped at the curb of the walk which led to the prison gate, a second carriage, as mysterious as the first, came down the street and stopped at a little distance, but close to the curb on the side nearest to the gate. The driver of the first carriage, evidently not liking the close neighborhood at the time, edged a trifle farther down the way. The second carriage thereupon drew up into the spot just vacated, and the two, not easily distinguishable at the hour and in the dark and unlighted street, stood so, each apparently watchful of the other, each seemingly without an occupant. Lady Catharine had left her carriage before this interchange, and had passed the prison gate alone. Her steps faltered. It was hardly consciously that she finally found her way into the court, through the gate, down the evil-smelling corridors, past the sodden and leering constables, up to the last gate which separated her from him whom she had come to see. She had been admitted without demur as far as this point, and even now her coming seemed not altogether a matter of surprise. The burly turnkey at the last door stood ready to meet her. With loud commands, he drove out of the corridor the crowd of prison attendants. He approached Lady Catharine, hat in hand and bowing deeply. "I presume you are the man whom I would see," said she, faintly, almost unequal to the task imposed upon her. "Aye, Madam, I doubt not, with my best worship for you." "I was to come"--said Lady Catharine. "I was to speak to you--" "Aye," replied the turnkey. "You were to come, and you were to speak. And now, what were you to say to me? Was there no given word?" "There was such a word," she said. "You will understand. It is in the matter of Mr. Law." "True," said the turnkey. "But I must have the countersign. There are heads to lose in this, yours and mine, if there be mistake." Lady Catharine raised her head proudly. "It was for Faith," said she, "for Love, and for Hope! These were the words." Saying which, as though she had called to her aid the last atom of her strength, she staggered back and half fell against the wall near the inner gate. The rude jailer sprang forward to steady her. "Yes, yes," he whispered, eagerly. "'Tis all proper. Those be the words. Pray you, have courage, lady." There came into the corridor a murmur of voices, and there was audible also the sound of a man's footfalls approaching along the flags. Catharine Knollys looked through the bars of the gate which the turnkey was already beginning to throw open for her. She looked, and there appeared upon her vision, a sight which caused her heart to stop, which confounded all her reason. From a side door there advanced John Law, magnificently clad, walking now as though he trod the floor of some great hall or banquet room.