If it was true--Marion was dead!
He dropped his head in his hands and sat for a long time in silence,
listening to Neil as he walked tirelessly over the muddy earth. Not
until there came a rattling of the chain at the cell door and a creaking
of the rusty hinges did he lift his face. It was the jailer with a huge
armful of straw. He saw Neil approach him after he had thrown it down.
Their low voices came to him in an indistinct murmur. After a little he
caught the sound of the chinking gold pieces.
Neil came and sat down beside him as the heavy door closed upon them
again.
"He took it," he whispered exultantly. "He will deliver it this morning.
If possible he will bring us an answer. I kept out a hundred and told
him that a reply would be worth that to him."
Nathaniel did not speak, and after a moment's silence Neil continued.
"The jury is assembling. We will know our fate very soon."
He rose to his feet, his words quivering with nervous excitement, and
Nathaniel heard him kicking about in the straw. In another breath his
voice hissed through the gloom in a sharp, startled command:
"Good God, Nat, come here!"
Something in the strange fierceness of Neil's words startled Nathaniel,
like the thrilling twinges of an electric shock. He darted across the
cell and found Marion's brother with his shoulder against the door.
"It's open!" he whispered. "The door--is--open!"
The hinges creaked under his weight. A current of air struck them in the
face.
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