of the arched roof. Although I had had some
experience of a prison in England, I scarcely thought it possible that
human beings could be confined in a dungeon so horrible as the one in
which we found ourselves. My two companions seemed inclined to give way
to despair.

Honest Jacob, however, thought more of me than of himself.

"And you told me, Master Verner, that you were about to be married to
that sweet young lady, Mistress Aveline; and oh! if they hang you, she
will surely break her heart! My good dame is laid in her grave, that's
one comfort. There is nobody to mourn for me and poor English John
here. They will scarcely kill him--though I do not know; for it seems
to me that the Spaniards and those who serve them have a delight in
destroying their fellow-creatures. They will probably kill us first,
and then bring us to trial."

I felt that it was my duty to try and keep up the courage of my
companions. Fortunately, John could not understand the remarks made by
Jacob. I told him to be of good cheer, and that I hoped we might still
by some means make our escape with our lives. My valise, containing a
large amount of valuables, had been taken by our captors; but I still
retained a considerable portion of jewels about me, besides several
rolls of gold which I had concealed in my dress. This had escaped
observation, our captors being delighted with the rich booty they had
found in the valise, which they probably supposed was all I possessed.
I hoped by bribing our jailer to induce him to help us to escape, or, at
all events, to send off a letter, which might be transmitted to Sir
Thomas Gresham. I told John also, what I knew would be some consolation
to him, that we might possibly be able to procure a larger amount of
provisions than the prison fare, which was likely to be scanty enough.
Before, however, I in any way committed myself by showing that I had any
money in my possession, I determined to try the temper of the jailer.

We were allowed to remain alone for several hours. At length the door
opened, and a ruffianly-looking fellow appeared carrying a jug of water
and a loaf of coarse bread--for coarse it seemed, even by the light of
the dim lantern which he bore in his hand.

"This is but poor fare for prisoners uncondemned," I observed. "Could
you not, friend, obtain us something better?"

"Good enough for men who have only a few days to live," he answered, in
a gruff voice.

"They will not v