posed Sir Percy, and a strange gleam suddenly
flashed in his eyes. "Demn it, sir, and in Christian parlance what may
that day be?"

"The 7th of February at your service, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin
quietly.

"I thank you, sir. In this d--d hole I had lost count of time."

Chauvelin, unlike his rough and blundering colleague, had been watching
the prisoner very closely for the last moment or two, conscious of a
subtle, undefinable change that had come over the man during those
few seconds while he, Chauvelin, had thought him dying. The pose was
certainly the old familiar one, the head erect, the hand clenched, the
eyes looking through and beyond the stone walls; but there was an air
of listlessness in the stoop of the shoulders, and--except for that one
brief gleam just now--a look of more complete weariness round the hollow
eyes! To the keen watcher it appeared as if that sense of living power,
of unconquered will and defiant mind was no longer there, and as if he
himself need no longer fear that almost supersensual thrill which had a
while ago kindled in him a vague sense of admiration--almost of remorse.

Even as he gazed, Blakeney slowly turned his eyes full upon him.
Chauvelin's heart gave a triumphant bound.

With a mocking smile he met the wearied look, the pitiable appeal. His
turn had come at last--his turn to mock and to exult. He knew that what
he was watching now was no longer the last phase of a long and noble
martyrdom; it was the end--the inevitable end--that for which he had
schemed and striven, for which he had schooled his heart to ferocity
and callousness that were devilish in their intensity. It was the end
indeed, the slow descent of a soul from the giddy heights of attempted
self-sacrifice, where it had striven to soar for a time, until the body
and the will both succumbed together and dragged it down with them into
the abyss of submission and of irreparable shame.

CHAPTER XXXVI. SUBMISSION

Silence reigned in the narrow cell for a few moments, whilst two human
jackals stood motionless over their captured prey.

A savage triumph gleamed in Chauvelin's eyes, and even Heron, dull and
brutal though he was, had become vaguely conscious of the great change
that had come over the prisoner.

Blakeney, with a gesture and a sigh of hopeless exhaustion had once
more rested both his elbows on the table; his head fell heavy and almost
lifeless downward in his arms.

"Curse you, man!" cried He