the great pest-house of the capital, he stood alone, marked and singled
out by his great guilt, a Lucifer among the devils. The other prisoners
were a host, hiding and sheltering each other--a crowd like that without
the walls. He was one man against the whole united concourse; a single,
solitary, lonely man, from whom the very captives in the jail fell off
and shrunk appalled.

It might be that the intelligence of his capture having been bruited
abroad, they had come there purposely to drag him out and kill him in
the street; or it might be that they were the rioters, and, in pursuance
of an old design, had come to sack the prison. But in either case he had
no belief or hope that they would spare him. Every shout they raised,
and every sound they made, was a blow upon his heart. As the attack went
on, he grew more wild and frantic in his terror: tried to pull away the
bars that guarded the chimney and prevented him from climbing up: called
loudly on the turnkeys to cluster round the cell and save him from the
fury of the rabble; or put him in some dungeon underground, no matter
of what depth, how dark it was, or loathsome, or beset with rats and
creeping things, so that it hid him and was hard to find.

But no one came, or answered him. Fearful, even while he cried to them,
of attracting attention, he was silent. By and bye, he saw, as he looked
from his grated window, a strange glimmering on the stone walls and
pavement of the yard. It was feeble at first, and came and went, as
though some officers with torches were passing to and fro upon the roof
of the prison. Soon it reddened, and lighted brands came whirling down,
spattering the ground with fire, and burning sullenly in corners. One
rolled beneath a wooden bench, and set it in a blaze; another caught a
water-spout, and so went climbing up the wall, leaving a long straight
track of fire behind it. After a time, a slow thick shower of burning
fragments, from some upper portion of the prison which was blazing nigh,
began to fall before his door. Remembering that it opened outwards, he
knew that every spark which fell upon the heap, and in the act lost
its bright life, and died an ugly speck of dust and rubbish, helped
to entomb him in a living grave. Still, though the jail resounded with
shrieks and cries for help,--though the fire bounded up as if each
separate flame had had a tiger's life, and roared as though, in every
one, there were a hungry voice--though the h