The silence at first was almost deathly. Then it was broken by a sound as of a heavy door banged, and the shuffling tramp of marching men--louder, louder, softer--a word of command--still softer, and it died away. Dead silence again! Nedda pressed her hands to her breast. Twice she added up those figures on the blackboard; each time the number was the same. Ah, there was a fly--two flies! How nice they looked, moving, moving, chasing each other in the air. Did flies get into the cells? Perhaps not even a fly came there--nothing more living than walls and wood! Nothing living except what was inside oneself! How dreadful! Not even a clock ticking, not even a bird's song! Silent, unliving, worse than in this room! Something pressed against her leg. She started violently and looked down. A little cat! Oh, what a blessed thing! A little sandy, ugly cat! It must have crept in through the door. She was not locked in, then, anyway! Thus far had nerves carried her already! Scrattling the little cat's furry pate, she pulled herself together. She would not tremble and be nervous. It was disloyal to Derek and to her purpose, which was to bring comfort to poor Tryst. Then the door was pushed open, and the warder said:
"A quarter of an hour, miss. I'll be just outside."
She saw a big man with unshaven cheeks come in, and stretched out her hand.
"I am Mr. Derek's cousin, going to be married to him. He's been ill, but he's getting well again now. We knew you'd like to hear."
And she thought: 'Oh! What a tragic face! I can't bear to look at his eyes!'
He took her hand, said, "Thank you, miss," and stood as still as ever.
"Please come and sit down, and we can talk."
Tryst moved to a form and took his seat thereon, with his hands between his knees, as if playing with an imaginary cap. He was dressed in an ordinary suit of laborer's best clothes, and his stiff, dust-colored hair was not cut particularly short. The cheeks of his square-cut face had fallen in, the eyes had sunk back, and the prominence thus given to his cheek and jawbones and thick mouth gave his face a savage look--only his dog-like, terribly yearning eyes made Nedda feel so sorry that she simply could not feel afraid.
"The children are such dears, Mr. Tryst. Billy seems to grow every day. They're no trouble at all, and quite happy. Biddy's wonderful with them."
"She's a good maid." The thick lips shaped the words as though they had almost lost power of speech.
"Do they let you see the newspapers we send? Have you got everything you want?"
For a minute he did not seem to be going to answer; then, moving his head from side to side, he said:
"Nothin' I want, but just get out of here."
Nedda murmured helplessly:
"It's only a month now to the assizes. Does Mr. Pogram come to see you?"
"Yes, he comes. He can't do nothin'!"
"Oh, don't despair! Even if they don't acquit you, it'll soon be over. Don't despair!" And she stole her hand out and timidly touched his arm. She felt her heart turning over and over, he looked so sad.
He said in that stumbling, thick voice:
"Thank you kindly. I must get out. I won't stand long of it--not much longer. I'm not used to it--always been accustomed to the air, an' bein' about, that's where 'tis. But don't you tell him, miss. You say I'm goin' along all right. Don't you tell him what I said. 'Tis no use him frettin' over me. 'Twon' do me no good."
And Nedda murmured:
"No, no; I won't tell him."
Then suddenly came the words she had dreaded:
"D'you think they'll let me go, miss?"
"Oh, yes, I think so--I hope so!" But she could not meet his eyes, and hearing him grit his boot on the floor knew he had not believed her.
He said slowly:
"I never meant to do it when I went out that mornin'. It came on me sudden, lookin' at the straw."
Nedda gave a little gasp. Could that man outside hear?
Tryst went on: "If they don't let me go, I won' stand it. 'Tis too much for a man. I can't sleep, I can't eat, nor nothin'. I won' stand it. It don' take long to die, if you put your mind to it."
Feeling quite sick with pity, Nedda got up and stood beside him; and, moved by an uncontrollable impulse, she lifted one of his great hands and clasped it in both her own. "Oh, try and be brave and look forward! You're going to be ever so happy some day."
He gave her a strange long stare.
"Yes, I'll be happy some day. Don' you never fret about me."
And Nedda saw that the warder was standing in the doorway.
"Sorry, miss, time's up."
Without a word Tryst rose and went out.
Nedda was alone again with the little sandy cat. Standing under the high-barred window she wiped her cheeks, that were all wet.
Why, why must people suffer so? Suffer so slowly, so horribly?
What were men made of that they could go on day after day, year after year, watching others suffer?
When the warder came back to take her out, she did not trust herself to speak, or even to look at him. She walked with hands tight clenched, and eyes fixed on the ground. Outside the prison door she drew a long, long breath. And suddenly her eyes caught the inscription on the corner of a lane leading down alongside the prison wall--"Love's Walk"!
