On the following morning, just as breakfast was over at the Cottage, Mrs.
Bellairs' pony and sleigh came to the door, and, after a hasty inquiry for Mrs.Costello, Mrs.Bellairs herself came in.
"William told me," she said, "that he had seen you yesterday, and that you were not well; so I thought the best thing I could do was to come myself, and see how you were to-day." There were a few minutes of talk, like, and yet unlike, what might have taken place between the same party at any other time--unlike, for each was talking of one thing, and thinking of another; even Mrs.Bellairs, who had, of course, heard from her husband the history of her friend's extraordinary and unaccountable agitation at the jail, and was full of wonder and curiosity in consequence.
After a little while Mr.Strafford left the room.

Lucia was watching for an opportunity to follow him, when her mother signed to her to remain, and at once began to speak of what had happened yesterday.
"That unhappy man's confession," she said, "must have been a relief to you all, I should think; but you cannot guess what it was to us." "It was a relief," Mrs.Bellairs answered, "for it will save so much horrible publicity, and the going over again of all that dreadful story; but it is shocking to think of that poor Indian, shut up in prison so long when he was innocent.

But William will not rest till he is at liberty." "I fear he will never be that.

He is dying." "Oh! I hope not.

William told me he was very ill; but when we get him once free, he must be taken good care of, and surely he will recover." "I think not.