Christ--wolves in sheep's clothing--you shall be judged for this!"

"Let him out!" cried North again, stamping his foot.

"It's no good," returned the gaoler. "I can't. If he was dying, I
can't."

North rushed away to the Commandant, and the instant his back was
turned, Hailes, the watchman, flung open the door, and darted into the
dormitory.

"Take that!" he cried, dealing Kirkland a blow on the head with his
keys, that stretched him senseless. "There's more trouble with you
bloody aristocrats than enough. Lie quiet!"

The Commandant, roused from slumber, told Mr. North that Kirkland might
stop where he was, and that he'd thank the chaplain not to wake him
up in the middle of the night because a blank prisoner set up a blank
howling.

"But, my good sir," protested North, restraining his impulse to overstep
the bounds of modesty in his language to his superior officer, "you know
the character of the men in that ward. You can guess what that unhappy
boy has suffered."

"Impertinent young beggar!" said Burgess. "Do him good, curse him! Mr.
North, I'm sorry you should have had the trouble to come here, but will
you let me go to sleep?"

North returned to the prison disconsolately, found the dutiful Hailes at
his post, and all quiet.

"What's become of Kirkland?" he asked.

"Fretted hisself to sleep, yer reverence," said Hailes, in accents of
parental concern. "Poor young chap! It's hard for such young 'uns."

In the morning, Rufus Dawes, coming to his place on the chain-gang, was
struck by the altered appearance of Kirkland. His face was of a greenish
tint, and wore an expression of bewildered horror.

"Cheer up, man!" said Dawes, touched with momentary pity. "It's no good
being in the mopes, you know."

"What do they do if you try to bolt?" whispered Kirkland.

"Kill you," returned Dawes, in a tone of surprise at so preposterous a
question.

"Thank God!" said Kirkland.

"Now then, Miss Nancy," said one of the men, "what's the matter with
you!" Kirkland shuddered, and his pale face grew crimson.

"Oh," he said, "that such a wretch as I should live!"

"Silence!" cried Troke. "No. 44, if you can't hold your tongue I'll give
you something to talk about. March!"

The work of the gang that afternoon was the carrying of some heavy logs
to the water-side, and Rufus Dawes observed that Kirkland was exhausted
long before the task was accomplished. "They'll kill you, you little
beggar!" said he, not unkindl