tched him keenly and earnestly. He heeded not the
oaths, or the taunts, or the threats which flowed from his lips; but as
word followed word, and gesture gesture, and look look, he became
gradually convinced that the resemblance was more than imaginary--that,
indeed, this blaspheming convict was one whom he had once known and
still remembered.

Walking up to him, and laying his hand on his shoulder, Jim said,
quietly,--

"Tom Drift, do you remember me?"

The man started as for an instant he raised his eyes. Then, letting
them drop once more, he growled,--

"That's not my name; I don't know you. Let me alone!"

Jim, more convinced than ever, now did the wisest thing he could in
leaving the cell without another word.

"Well," said the turnkey, with a half-triumphant grin, as they turned to
leave the gallery, "wasn't I right? Didn't he give you half a dozen as
pretty bits of language as you ever heard?"

"Do not speak to me about it, please," replied Jim, more tartly than he
had been ever known to speak to any one.

He did not return to the gaol for a week; and then the first visit he
paid was to the new prisoner's cell.

He entered it anxiously, and not without misgivings. Tom Drift was
sitting on his little bench with his head in his hands.

"May I come in?" said Jim, nervously.

Tom neither spoke nor raised his head; and Jim quietly stepped in. It
was evident the interview of a week ago had had its effect on Tom Drift.
He seemed as he sat there like a man who would fain lose himself if he
only knew how. He never once raised his head from his hands or uttered
a syllable while Jim sat and talked to him. The latter knew better than
to return to the topic which had so startled the prisoner a week ago,
and contented himself with mere kindly talk and the reading of a short
passage of Scripture. All this Tom suffered without interruption,
stirring neither head nor foot all the time.

"Now, good-bye," said Jim, rising; "don't get to think you have no
friends."

The man fidgeted impatiently, and next moment Jim was out in the
gallery.

"What's that man's name?" he inquired of the turnkey.

"Dykes; and I tell you what, Mr Halliday, he--"

"Open this door, please, my man," interrupted Jim, by way of cutting him
short.

During the week which followed Jim was restless and out of spirits. He
seemed unable to settle down to anything, and it was evident his heart
was ill at ease--why, it was easy to gue