The convict started as though he had been struck, and turned his eyes
upon the chairman. He drew a deep inspiration, which wheezed and
rattled as it passed into his chest. An expression of excruciating pain
swept over his face. He dropped the ball, which struck the floor with a
loud sound, and his long, bony fingers tore at the striped shirt over
his breast. A groan escaped him, and he would have sunk to the floor
had not the guard caught him and held him upright. In a moment it was
over, and then, collapsing with exhaustion, he sank into the chair.
There he sat, conscious and intelligent, but slouching, disorganized,
and indifferent.

The chairman turned sharply to the guard. "Why did you manacle this
man," he demanded, "when he is evidently so weak, and when none of the
others were manacled?"

"Why, sir," stammered the guard, "surely you know who this man is: he
is the most dangerous and desperate----"

"We know all about that. Remove his manacles."

The guard obeyed. The chairman turned to the convict, and in a kindly
manner said, "Do you know who we are?"

The convict got himself together a little and looked steadily at the
chairman. "No," he replied, after a pause. His manner was direct, and
his voice was deep, though hoarse.

"We are the State Prison Directors. We have heard of your case, and we
want you to tell us the whole truth about it."

The convict's mind worked slowly, and it was some time before he could
comprehend the explanation and request. When he had accomplished that
task he said, very slowly, "I suppose you want me to make a complaint,
sir."

"Yes,--if you have any to make."

The convict was getting himself in hand. He straightened up, and gazed
at the chairman with a peculiar intensity. Then firmly and clearly he
answered, "I've no complaint to make."

The two men sat looking at each other in silence, and as they looked a
bridge of human sympathy was slowly reared between them. The chairman
rose, passed around an intervening table, went up to the convict, and
laid a hand on his gaunt shoulder. There was a tenderness in his voice
that few men had ever heard there.

"I know," said he, "that you are a patient and uncomplaining man, or we
should have heard from you long ago. In asking you to make a statement
I am merely asking for your help to right a wrong, if a wrong has been
done. Leave your own wishes entirely out of consideration, if you
prefer. Assume, if you will, that it is not o