A Private Chivalry by Francis Lynde

BRANT was lying down when he heard the heavy step of the turnkey in the corridor; heard the heavy step and a lighter one, and the rustle of a woman's dress. He made sure it was another of the cut-flower faddists who had lately been making his prison life a hot bath of vicarious shame, and sprang up with a muttered malediction comprehensive enough to include the entire procession of the sentimentalists. A moment later the key grated in the lock, the bolts clanked, and the door swung back. He stood transfixed for an instant, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Then the clamour and crash of the closing door brought him to his senses and he turned away and hid his face.

Dorothy stood still, abashed at her own boldness and waiting timidly for some sign of recognition. When it was overlong in coming she plucked up courage and went to him.

"Haven't you a word of welcome for me, Mr. Brant? " she asked softly.

"Don't ask me. What can I say? Why did you come?"

"Because you made me," she said simply. "You wouldn't listen to any of the others, you know; and -- and -- but you will listen to me. You must."

He turned to face her, and even in the dim half-light of the cell she could see that he was nerving himself for a struggle.

"Please sit down," he said, pointing to the single chair. "I think I know what you have come to say, but it isn't any use -- indeed, it is not."

She ignored the pointing and the invitation, and leaned against the wall within arm's reach of him.

"Please don't say that -- not to me. None of the others had my right. It was I who sent you."

He flinched at that and gave ground a little. "You have a good right, Miss Langford, though it isn't builded upon your little cry for help. What would you have me do?"

"Whatever papa wants you to do," she rejoined quickly, deeming it best not to go too deeply into particulars.

"I am sorry to have to refuse you anything; but this that you ask is altogether impossible."

"Why is it impossible?"

"Because -- God in heaven! -- none of you know what you are asking!"

"Then tell me, so I may know."

"I can't do that, either."

"Won't you tell me if I guess it?"

The pleading eyes unsteadied him, and he receded yet another step. "Perhaps," he said, hesitating.

"Are you afraid that if you defend yourself my brother will be in danger?"

Is there something in the washing of tears that gives insight to sympathetic eyes? She saw deep into him at that moment; saw that to deny her accusation would be to lie; saw also that he could not look into her eyes and find words to frame the falsehood. So she was prepared for the evasion.