It is probably owing to the governor's proverbial official caution that he could never be induced to say what was at Solly's side—to say positively, that is. It seemed to him it was a woman. Not such a woman as we meet in daily life, but, as it were, the shadow of a woman. It seemed to the governor that she was attired in robe de nuit. Solly held her by the hand. The governor thought he saw so much, but before he had a chance of seeing more she fled, or vanished into air. His eyes never ceased to gaze at Solly's side, and there was nothing there.
When there could be no doubt that the tangible presence of the something which had been standing there had gone, the governor's voice rang out sharp and clear—
"Solly, who was that you were talking to?"
"It was my wife."
"Your wife?" The governor stared. There was a peculiar ring in his voice, which probably no prisoner had ever heard in it before. "I will have you punished in the morning."
The prisoner smiled. In his voice there was also a ring, but it was a ring of a different kind.
"No, Mr. Paley, you will not, because in the morning I shall be free." Solly paused, as if to give the governor an opportunity of speaking; but the opportunity was not taken. So he went on, "My wife has come to bring me good news." He turned; he held out his arms as if to take someone within them, but they could see no one there to take. And he said, "Good-bye until the morning, wife!" He advanced his face as if to kiss someone, and there was the sound of a kiss, but they could see no one who
