of their progress. The
aching in his arms became severe; he suffered from cold. The floor was
swept by a draught which seemed strong and keen as a blast of east
wind; it made his eyes smart, and he kept them closed, with some slight
hope that this might also have the effect of inducing sleep. Sleep,
however, held far aloof from him. When he had wearied his brain with
other thoughts, his attention began to turn to sounds in the court
below. There, just as it grew dusk, some children were playing, and he
tried to get amusement from their games. One of them was this. A little
girl would say to the rest:--"I sent my daughter to the oil-shop, and
the first thing she saw was C;" and the task was to guess for what
article this initial stood. "Carrots!" cried one, but was laughed to
scorn. "Candles!" cried another, and triumphed. Then there were games
which consisted in the saying of strange incantations. The children
would go round and round, as was evident from the sound of their feet,
chanting the while:--"Sally, Sally Wallflower, Sprinkle in a pan; Rise,
Sally Wallflower, And choose your young man. Choose for the fairest
one, Choose for the best, Choose for the rarest one, That you love
best!" Upon this followed words and movements only half understood;
then at length broke out a sort of hymeneal chorus:--"Here stands a
young couple, Just married and settled: Their father and mother they
must obey. They love one another like sister and brother. So pray,
young couple, come kiss together!" Lastly, laughter and screams and
confusion. This went on till it was quite dark.

Pitch dark in Slimy's room; only the faintest reflection on a portion
of the ceiling of lamplight from without. Waymark's sufferings became
extreme. The rope about his neck seemed to work itself tighter; there
were moments when he had to struggle for the scant breath which the gag
allowed him. He feared lest he should become insensible, and so perhaps
be suffocated. His arms were entirely numbed; he could not feel that he
was lying on them. Surely Slimy's emissary would come before midnight.

"One, two, three, four--twelve!" How was it that e had lost all count
of the hours since eight o'clock? Whether that had been sleep or
insensibility, Waymark could not decide. Intensity of cold must have
brought back consciousness; his whole body seemed to be frozen; his
eyes ached insufferably. Continuous thought had somehow become an
impossibility; he knew that Ida wa