At the fourth floor the elevator stopped and the heavy iron door swung back. "This way," said the keeper, stepping out and quickly walking along the corridor. "He's in cell No. 456." A lump rose in Annie's throat. The place was well ventilated, yet she thought she would faint from a choking feeling of restraint. All along the corridor to the left were iron doors painted yellow. In the upper part of the door were half a dozen broad slits through which one could see what was going on inside. "Those are the cells," volunteered her guide. Annie shuddered as, mentally, she pictured Howard locked up in such a dreadful place. She peered through one of the slits and saw a narrow cell about ten feet long by six wide. The only furnishings were a folding cot with blanket, a wash bowl and lavatory. Each cell had its occupant, men and youths of all ages. Some were reading, some playing cards. Some were lying asleep on their cots, perhaps dreaming of home, but most of them leaning dejectedly against the iron bars wondering when they would regain their liberty. "Where are the women?" asked Annie, trying to keep down the lump that rose chokingly in her throat. "They're in a separate part of the prison," replied the keeper. "Isn't it dreadful?" she murmured. "Not at all," he exclaimed cheerfully. "These prisoners fare better in prison than they do outside. I wager some of them are sorry to leave." "But it's dreadful to be cooped up in those little cells, isn't it?" she said. "Not so bad as it looks," he laughed. "They are allowed to come out in the corridor to exercise twice a day for an hour and there is a splendid shower bath they can take." "Where is my husband's cell?" she whispered, almost dreading to hear the reply. "There it is," he said, pointing to a door. "No. 456." Walking rapidly ahead of her and stopping at one of the cell doors, he rapped loudly on the iron grating and cried: "Jeffries, here's a lady come to see you. Wake up there!" A white, drawn face approached the grating. Annie sprang forward. "Howard!" she sobbed. "Is it you, Annie?" came a weak voice through the bars. "Can't I go in to him?" she asked pleadingly. The keeper shook his head. "No, m'm, you must talk through the bars, but I won't disturb you." He walked away and the husband and wife were left facing each other. The tears were streaming down Annie's cheeks. It was dreadful to be standing there so close and yet not be able to throw her arms around him. Her heart ached as she saw the distress in his wan, pale face. "Why didn't you come before?" he asked. "I could not. They wouldn't let me. Oh, Howard," she gasped. "What a dreadful thing this is! Tell me how you got into such a scrape!"