him that
the young man had something on his mind; if he would only confide in his
spiritual adviser, he assured him comfort could be administered. But no
confidence ever took place. It was a most distressing case; here was a
youth of superior position, and well educated, as obstinate and stubborn
as the most hardened criminal in the establishment. His Bible was never
opened. One of his warders had expressed his opinion that No. 421 was
vindictive, but he (the chaplain) was bound to say he had observed
nothing of that. The remarks in his note-book respecting 421 were these:
"Richard Yorke--aged twenty, looks ten years older; reserved and
cynical; a hopeless infidel, but respectful, uncomplaining, and
well-mannered."

Richard had been reported more than once for "inattention to orders,"
and had lost some of his good marks accordingly. The cause of this was
one over which he could now be scarcely said to have control. He had
become so absent and _distrait_ that he sometimes hardly knew what was
going on about him. The perpetual brooding in which he indulged had, in
fact, already postponed the accomplishment of the very object which
enthralled his thoughts. The effect of this was serious; and he had good
reason for the apprehension which seized him, that his wits might leave
him before that day of liberty arrived, which was still so many years
distant. On account of his previous calling, which was described in the
prison books as landscape-painter, he had been put to a handicraft
trade; but he now applied for harrow-work, and the surgeon seconded his
application. This change of occupation, which was destined in some
respects to be beneficial, proved at the outset most unfortunate. The
outdoor toil was mostly spade and barrow labor on the moor, on which the
convicts worked in gangs--each gang under supervision of two warders,
armed with sword and musket. The first face that Richard's eyes lit on,
when he found himself in the open, with the free air of heaven blowing
on him, and already, as it seemed, bearing the seeds of health and hope,
was that of Robert Balfour. In his joyous excitement he sprang forward
and held out his hand; the other hesitated--for the old cracksman was
prudence itself--then, as if with an incontrollable impulse, grasped the
offered fingers, with an "I am right glad to see you, lad." The next
instant they were both in custody, and marched back to the prison,
charged with the high crime and misdemeanor