ine vibrated at this, and bent forward to enjoy the vicarious
delight of seeing another man chew tobacco. Troke grinned with a silent
mirth that betokened retribution for the favoured convict. "Here," said
Mr. North, holding out the dainty morsel upon which so many eyes were
fixed. Rufus Dawes took the tobacco; looked at it hungrily for an
instant, and then--to the astonishment of everybody--flung it away with
a curse.

"I don't want your tobacco," he said; "keep it."

From convict mouths went out a respectful roar of amazement, and Mr.
Troke's eyes snapped with pride of outraged janitorship. "You ungrateful
dog!" he cried, raising his stick.

Mr. North put up a hand. "That will do, Troke," he said; "I know your
respect for the cloth. Move the men on again."

"Get on!" said Troke, rumbling oaths beneath his breath, and Dawes felt
his newly-riveted chain tug. It was some time since he had been in a
chain-gang, and the sudden jerk nearly overbalanced him. He caught at
his neighbour, and looking up, met a pair of black eyes which gleamed
recognition. His neighbour was John Rex. Mr. North, watching them, was
struck by the resemblance the two men bore to each other. Their height,
eyes, hair, and complexion were similar. Despite the difference in
name they might be related. "They might be brothers," thought he. "Poor
devils! I never knew a prisoner refuse tobacco before." And he looked on
the ground for the despised portion. But in vain. John Rex, oppressed by
no foolish sentiment, had picked it up and put it in his mouth.

So Rufus Dawes was relegated to his old life again, and came back to
his prison with the hatred of his kind, that his prison had bred in him,
increased a hundred-fold. It seemed to him that the sudden awakening
had dazed him, that the flood of light so suddenly let in upon
his slumbering soul had blinded his eyes, used so long to the
sweetly-cheating twilight. He was at first unable to apprehend the
details of his misery. He knew only that his dream-child was alive and
shuddered at him, that the only thing he loved and trusted had betrayed
him, that all hope of justice and mercy had gone from him for ever, that
the beauty had gone from earth, the brightness from Heaven, and that he
was doomed still to live. He went about his work, unheedful of the jests
of Troke, ungalled by his irons, unmindful of the groans and laughter
about him. His magnificent muscles saved him from the lash; for the
amiable Trok