clasped hands. He is roused by a knock at the door.
"There he is," said Bartle Massey, rising hastily and unfastening the door. It was Mr Irwine.
Adam rose from his chair with instinctive respect, as Mr Irwine approached him and took his hand.
"I'm late, Adam," he said, sitting down on the chair which Bartle placed for him; "but I was later in setting off from Broxton than I intended to be, and I have been incessantly occupied since I arrived. I have done everything now, however—everything that can be done to-night, at least. Let us all sit down."
Adam took his chair again mechanically, and Bartle, for whom there was no chair remaining, sat on the bed in the background.
"Have you seen her, sir?" said Adam, tremulously.
"Yes, Adam; I and the chaplain have both been with her this evening."
"Did you ask her, sir . . . did you say anything about me?"
"Yes," said Mr Irwine, with some hesitation, "I spoke of you. I said you wished to see her before the trial, if she consented."
