em? Oh, absurd!
It was only the thundery weather. He would go to sleep and get a little
rest before beginning his filing.

Eight bars, and all so thick and strong! How many more were there
left to file? Surely not many. He must have been filing for
hours,--interminable hours--yes, of course, that was what made his arm
ache---- And how it ached; right through to the very bone! But it could
hardly be the filing that made his side ache so; and the throbbing,
burning pain in the lame leg--was that from filing?

He started up. No, he had not been asleep; he had been dreaming with
open eyes--dreaming of filing, and it was all still to do. There stood
the window-bars, untouched, strong and firm as ever. And there was ten
striking from the clock-tower in the distance. He must get to work.

He looked through the spy-hole, and, seeing that no one was watching,
took one of the files from his breast.

*****

No, there was nothing the matter with him--nothing! It was all
imagination. The pain in his side was indigestion, or a chill, or some
such thing; not much wonder, after three weeks of this insufferable
prison food and air. As for the aching and throbbing all over, it was
partly nervous trouble and partly want of exercise. Yes, that was it, no
doubt; want of exercise. How absurd not to have thought of that before!

He would sit down a little bit, though, and let it pass before he got to
work. It would be sure to go over in a minute or two.

To sit still was worse than all. When he sat still he was at its mercy,
and his face grew gray with fear. No, he must get up and set to work,
and shake it off. It should depend upon his will to feel or not to feel;
and he would not feel, he would force it back.

He stood up again and spoke to himself, aloud and distinctly:

"I am not ill; I have no time to be ill. I have those bars to file, and
I am not going to be ill."

Then he began to file.

A quarter-past ten--half-past ten--a quarter to eleven---- He filed and
filed, and every grating scrape of the iron was as though someone were
filing on his body and brain. "I wonder which will be filed through
first," he said to himself with a little laugh; "I or the bars?" And he
set his teeth and went on filing.

Half-past eleven. He was still filing, though the hand was stiff and
swollen and would hardly grasp the tool. No, he dared not stop to rest;
if he once put the horrible thing down he should never have the courage
to begi