"Nothing, there is nothing," she said. "I just wanted you. I wanted some one--" "Yes, I understand," said Elizabeth. She did understand many things now that made life clearer, if sadder. "I wanted you to tell my poor old mother," said Gusta. "That’s all--that’s what I had to tell you." She said it so unconvincingly, and looked up suddenly with a wan smile that begged forgiveness, and then Elizabeth did what a while before would have been impossible--she kissed the girl’s cheek. And Gusta cuddled close to her in a peace that almost purred, and was contented. Gusta was held for a week; then released. XII Archie was looking well that Monday morning in January on which his trial was to begin. He had slept soundly in his canvas hammock; not even the whimpering of Reinhart, the young sneak thief whom every one in the jail detested, nor the strange noises and startled outcries he made in his sleep--when he did sleep--had disturbed him. The night before, Utter had allowed Archie a bath, though he had broken a rule in doing so, and that morning Archie had borrowed a whisk from Utter, brushed his old clothes industriously, and then he had put on the underwear his mother had washed and patched and mended, and the shirt of blue and white stripes Marriott had provided. Then with scrupulous care he set his cell in order, arranged his few things on the little table--the deck of cards, the yellow-covered dog’s-eared novel and a broken comb. Beside these, lay his fresh collar and his beloved blue cravat with the white polka dots; his coat and waistcoat hung over the back of his chair. At seven o’clock Willie Kirkpatrick, alias "Toughie," a boy who, after two terms in the Reform School, was now going to the Intermediate Prison, had brought in the bread and coffee. At eight o’clock Archie was turned into the corridor, and with him Blanco, the bigamist, whose two young wives were being held as witnesses in the women’s quarter. Blanco was a barber, and he made himself useful by shaving the other prisoners. This morning, with scissors, razor, lather-brush and cup, he took especial pains with Archie. Now and then he paused, cocked his little head with its plume of black hair, and surveyed his handiwork with honest pride. "I’ll fix you up swell, Dutch, so’s they’ll have to acquit you." From the cells came laughter. The prisoners began to josh Blanco--it was one of their few pastimes. "Don’t stand for one of them gilly hair-cuts, Dutch," cried Billy Whee, a porch-climber. "It’ll be a fritzer, sure." "Yes, he’ll make your knob look like a mop." "When I was doing my bit at the Pork Dump," began O’Grady, in the tone that portends a story; the cell doors began to rattle. "Cheese it," cried the voices. They had grown tired of O’Grady’s boasting. After Archie had returned to his cell, an English thief whom they called the Duke, began to sing in a clear tenor voice, to the tune of _Dixie_: