best way it could to prevent its becoming instantaneously
deafened by the horrid sound; then tearing round and round and round the
confined space of his cell, till there seemed to him fifty windows
instead of one, and the single door appeared suddenly placed in every
part of the miserable vault,--he struck his head against the rugged wall
of his prison, and toppled over senseless on to the ground.

AT REST.

It is not easy to say how long Bruin remained insensible, but it must
have been some time; for when he recovered himself, there was a feeling
of weakness about him as though he had been fasting long. His head, too,
felt sadly dizzy as he rose from his cold bed and pushed his nose
against the hole of a window to procure a little air. From this he
withdrew to pace his narrow cell; and as the turning round increased his
giddiness, on reaching the opposite wall he retraced his steps
backwards, and so continued for a full hour, gently moving his head
meanwhile to the right and left, as was his wont. Then getting into the
driest corner, he threw himself of a heap on the ground, and
mechanically resuming the old family practice of sucking his paw, tried
to bring his mind to bear upon his situation. But this was a matter of
no little difficulty, for the late events of his life had tended very
considerably to weaken an intellect that was never remarkable for
strength; and so he sat, and relapsed into a dozy state, where
forgetfulness, for the most part, presided. At times, it is true, he
would wake up, and the old fire lighting in his eyes, he would dash his
paw on the ground as he observed the prison-walls close around him; but
the feeling was momentary, and it was evident that the indulgence of his
evil passions had so far clouded his reason, that a few weeks' solitary
confinement would deprive him of all power of reflection for ever.

Evening had come again, though it was dark night in Bruin's cell, and
had been so for hours; when suddenly he heard, or fancied he heard, his
name uttered in a loud whisper. A fear he had never before experienced,
an apprehension of he knew not what, stole over him; and it was not till
the voice, a little louder, exclaimed,--

"Bruin! Bruin, I say!" that he dared venture a reply; when, after an
effort, he said,--

"Who calls?"

"A friend," was the ready answer.

"A friend!" exclaimed Bruin, savagely; "then you can't be seeking _me_,
for I have got no friends."

"Come, come,