fied. True, the man had
gained nothing by his former treachery, but that might not prevent him
from repeating it, in the hope that a second betrayal would compel
reward.

While Desmond was still pondering and puzzling, it happened one
unfortunate day that Govinda the overseer was carried off within a few
hours by what the Babu called the cramp--a disease now known as cholera.
His place was immediately filled. But his successor was a very different
man. He was not so capable as Govinda, and endeavored to make up for his
incapacity by greater brutality and violence. The work of the yard fell
off; he tried to mend matters by harrying the men. The whip and rattan
were in constant use, but the result was less efficiency than ever, and
he sought for the cause everywhere but in himself. The lives of the
captives, bad enough before, became a continual torment.

Desmond fared no better than the rest. He lost the trifling privileges he
had formerly enjoyed. The new overseer seemed to take a delight in
bullying him. Many a night, when he returned to the shed, his back was
raw where the lash had cut a livid streak through his thin dhoti. His
companions suffered in common with him, Fuzl Khan more than any. For days
at a time the man was incapacitated from work by the treatment meted out
to him. Desmond felt that if the Gujarati had indeed purchased his life
by betraying his comrades, he had made a dear bargain.

One night, when his eight companions were all asleep, and nothing could
be heard but the regular calls of the sentries, the beating of tom toms
in the town, and the howls of jackals prowling in the outskirts, Desmond
gently woke the Babu.

"My friend, listen," he whispered, "I have something to say to you."

Surendra Nath turned over in his charpoy.

"Speak soft, I pray," he said.

"My head is on fire," continued Desmond. "I cannot sleep. I have been
thinking. What is life worth to us? Can anything be worse than our
present lot? Do you ever think of escape?"

"What good, sir? I have said so before. We are fettered; what can we do?
There is but one thing that all men in our plight desire; that is death."

"Nonsense! I do not desire death. This life is hateful, but while we live
there is something to hope for, and I for one am not content to endure
lifelong misery. I mean to escape."

"It is easy to say, but the doing--that is impossible."

"How can we tell that unless we try? The men who tried to escape did