Warden Rand's steel-grey eyes played for a moment over Merton appreciatively.
"You've got a good heart, Merton, a good heart—like your father," he said ; then to the clerk: "Stall, have Number Seven-seventy-seven brought to the visitor's room, and send Willett to me."
"Yes, sir," said Stall, and, rising, left the office.
A moment later a guard entered and saluted.
"Willett," said the warden, "this is Mr. Merton. He is to see Number Seven-seventy-seven." Then to Merton: "The guard will take you to the visitor's room, Mr. Merton. Come back here afterwards; it is nearly noon and you can't drive home before dinner—I shall expect you to come over to the house and have it with my daughter and me. I'll see that your horse is looked after."
"Why, thank you," said Merton, "but I—"
"Nonsense!" smiled the warden genially. "I couldn't hear of anything else." He nodded at Willett.
"This way, sir," said the guard, starting toward the door.
"Oh, by the way, Willett!" the warden called, as they reached the doorway.
"Yes, sir?" said the guard, returning to the desk.
Merton did not catch the warden's words; they were spoken in a low tone, but, whatever they were, they were few and brief, for in another minute Willett had returned to his side and they were going down the hallway together.
A guard on the other side of the great, steel-barred door before them swung back the ponderous barrier and they passed through; it closed with a remorseless clash,
