times he appeared fifty, so
stern were his thoughts usually. Heartall was twenty--he might have
been taken for seventeen, so much innocence was there in his
appearance. A strict friendship was knit up between the two, rather of
father to son than brother to brother, Heartall being still almost a
child, Sam already nearly an old man. They wrought in the same
work-room--they slept under the same vault--they walked in the same
airing-ground--they ate of the same bread. Each of these two friends
was the universe to the other--it would seem that they were happy.

Mention has already been made of the director of the work-rooms. This
man, who was abhorred by the prisoners, was often obliged, in order to
enforce obedience, to have recourse to Sam Needy, who was beloved by
them. On more than one occasion, when the question was, how to put
down a rebellion or a tumult, the authority without title of Sam Needy
had given powerful aid to the official authority of the director; in
short, to restrain the prisoners, ten words from him were as good as
ten turnkeys. Sam had many times rendered this service to the
director, wherefore the latter detested him cordially. He was jealous
of him; there was at the bottom of his heart a secret, envious,
implacable hatred against Sam--the hate of a titular for a real
sovereign--of a temporal against a spiritual power; these are the
worst of all hatreds.

Sam loved Heartall greatly, and did not trouble himself about the
director. One morning when the turnkeys were leading the prisoners,
two by two, from their dormitory to the work-room, one of them called
Heartall, who was by the side of Sam, and informed him that the
director wished to see him.

"What does he want with you?" said Sam.

"I do not know," replied the other.

The turnkey took Heartall away.

The morning past; Heartall did not return to the work-room. When the
dinner hour arrived, Sam expected that he should rejoin Heartall in
the airing-ground--but no Heartall was there. He returned into the
work-room, still Heartall did not make his appearance. So passed the
day. At night, when the prisoners were removed to their dormitory, Sam
looked out for Heartall, but could not see him. It would seem that he
must have suffered much at that moment, for he addressed the
turnkey--a thing which he had never done before.

"Is Heartall sick?" was his question.

"No," replied the turnkey.

"Why is it, then, that he has not again made his ap