nightmare of the last few weeks.

But a more poignant reminder of her married life was now in store for
Rachel Minchin. She had come to Chelsea because it was the only portion
of the town in which she had the semblance of a friend; but there did
live in Tite Street a young couple with whom the Minchins had at one
time been on friendly terms. That was in the day of plenty and
extravagance; and the acquaintance, formed at an hotel in the Trossachs,
had not ripened in town as the two wives could have wished. It was Mrs.
Carrington, however, who had found the Minchins their furnished house,
while her husband certainly interested himself in Rachel's defence.
Carrington was a barrister, who never himself touched criminal work, but
he had spoken to a friend who did, to wit the brilliant terror of female
witnesses, and caustic critic of the police, to whom Rachel owed so
little. But to Carrington himself she owed much--more indeed than she
cared to calculate--for he was not a man whom she liked. She wished to
thank him for his kindness, to give certain undertakings and to ask his
advice, but it was Mrs. Carrington whom she really hoped to see. There
was a good heart, or Rachel was much mistaken. They would have seen more
of each other if Mrs. Carrington had had her way. Rachel remembered her
on the occasion of the solitary visit she had received at Holloway--for
Mrs. Carrington had been the visitor.

"Don't tell Jim," she had said, "when you get off and come to see us."

And she had kissed her captive sister in a way that made poor Rachel
sometimes think she had a friend in England after all; but that was
before her committal; and thereafter from that quarter not a word. It
was not Mrs. Carrington whom Rachel blamed, however, and those last
words of hers implied an invitation which had never been withdrawn. But