A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to her startled gaze. Then he understood. Shortly to be executed. Restraining with an effort his intense curiosity, he talked of general subjects only, trying his best to entertain her. Marvel. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley.
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