over and over that it was really he who was
put in that disgraceful dress, and locked in
that shameful walk from corridor to work-
room, from work-room to chapel. The work
was not much more monotonous than that
to which he had been accustomed in the
office. Here, as there, one was reproved
for not doing the required amount, but never
praised for extraordinary efforts. Here, as
there, the workers regarded each other with
dislike and suspicion. Here, as there, work
was a penalty and not a pleasure.

It is the nights that are to be dreaded in
a penitentiary. Speech eases the brain of
free men; but the man condemned to eter-
nal silence is bound to endure torments.
Thought, which might be a diversion, be-
comes a curse; it is a painful disease which
becomes chronic. It does not take long to
forget the days of the week and the months
of the year when time brings no variance.
David drugged himself on dreams. He
knew it was weakness, but it was the wine
of forgetfulness, and he indulged in it. He
went over and over, in endless repetition,
every scene in which Zoe Le Baron had
figured.

He learned by a paper that she had gone