first place, which will allow time for
further inquiries to be made, and, if necessary, to communicate and
receive our sublime Master's commands on the matter. Till then you will
be kept in solitary confinement, on bread and water, and closely
guarded."

"Mercy!" Mole found tongue to exclaim. "I trust--I implore that your
highness will at least spare my wretched life, for I declare----"

"Away with him," interrupted the pasha.

So the unhappy Mole was taken off in chains to his dungeon, bread and
water, and horrible anticipations of his ultimate fate.

CHAPTER LXXVII.

MOLE IN "THE DEEPEST DUNGEON"--HOPES OF RESCUE.

The unfortunate Isaac Mole was now reduced to a position unprecedented
even in his varied career.

He was placed in the "deepest dungeon" of the old castle, which was
used as the town gaol, in a cold stone cell all to himself, and a
couple of fierce-looking bashi-bazouks to watch him.

Bread and water--both of the stalest--constituted poor Mole's only
fare, and his lodging was literally "on the cold, cold ground."

The constant fear of a terrible doom haunted him.

It was the third night of his incarceration, and about the middle of
the night Mole was kept awake by his own depressing thoughts, together
with the gambols of the rats that infested the dungeon.

Suddenly the deadly stillness was broken by a sound outside, which much
agitated him.

"Ha, what sound is that?" cried Mole; "yes, oh, joy, it is the sound of
a flute."

Could he mistake that note?

Who could make such melancholy strains but the desolate orphan--the
melodious Figgins?

Had Figgins, forgetting all past differences and animosities, come to
soothe Mole's captivity, in this manner, or--horrible thought!--was it
a strain of malice or revengeful triumph that emanated from the
long-suffering and tortured instrument.

But the flute did not long continue playing, and Mole conjectured that
it was only a signal to which he was expected to respond.

He had no mode whatever of doing so, excepting a melancholy whistle,
which, however, served its purpose.

Through the bars of the prison, which were far too high up for him to
reach, a small object suddenly came crashing, and very narrowly did it
escape falling upon the prisoner's nose.

Reaching out his hand in the dark, Mr. Mole picked it up, and found it
to be a stone wrapped in paper.

He knew at once that it must be a written message from his friends
outside, and