a moment.  I had a glimpse of it by the light of the keeper’s lantern as they put him in, and it seemed to me a single night in that awful place would have killed me or driven me mad.  I protested and begged and tried to bribe, but it was all of no avail; the keeper had been bribed before I arrived.  Although it could do no possible good, I was glad to stand outside the prison walls in the drenching rain, all the rest of that wretched night, that I might be as near as possible to my friend and suffer a little with him.

Was not I, too, greatly indebted to him?  Had he not imperiled his life and given his blood to save the honor of Jane as well as of Mary—­Jane, dearer to me a thousand-fold than the breath of my nostrils?  And was he not suffering at that moment because of this great service, performed at my request and in my place?  If my whole soul had not gone out to him I should have been the most ungrateful wretch on earth; worse even than a pair of selfish, careless girls.  But it did go out to him, and I believe I would have bartered my life to have freed him from another hour in that dungeon.

As soon as the prison gates were opened next morning, I again importuned the keeper to give Brandon a more comfortable cell, but his reply was that such crimes had of late become so frequent in London that no favor could be shown those who committed them, and that men like Brandon, who ought to know and act better, deserved the maximum punishment.

I told him he was wrong in this case; that I knew the facts, and everything would be clearly explained that very day and Brandon released.

“That’s all very well,” responded the stubborn creature; “nobody is guilty who comes here; they can every one prove innocence clearly and at once.  Notwithstanding, they nearly all hang, and frequently, for variety’s sake, are drawn and quartered.”

I waited about Newgate until nine o’clock, and as I passed out met Buckingham and his man Johnson, a sort of lawyer-knight, going in.  I went down to the palace at Greenwich, and finding that the girls were still at Scotland Palace, rode over at once to see them.

Upon getting Mary and Jane to myself, I told them of Brandon’s arrest on the charge of murder, and of his condition, lying half dead from wounds and loss of blood, in that frightful dungeon.  The tale moved them greatly, and they both gave way to tears.  I think Mary had heard of the arrest before, as she did not seem surprised.

“Do you think he will tell the cause of the killing?” she asked.

“I know he will not,” I answered; “but I also know that he knows you will,” and I looked straight into her face.

“Certainly we will,” said Jane; “we will go to the king at once,” and she was on the qui vive to start immediately.

Mary did not at once consent to Jane’s proposition, but sat in a reverie, looking with tearful eyes into vacancy, apparently absorbed in thought.  After a little pressing from us she said:  “I suppose it will have to be done; I can see no other way; but blessed Mother Mary!... help me!”