know what I mean."

"You mean," said Mariano, "that in consequence of my violence they gave
you an additional flogging. True, father, true; and _that_ is the one
thing that will now enable me to suffer in silence."

At this point in the conversation they were interrupted by a deep groan
from a young man in the cell opposite, which was prolonged into an
appalling cry.

Most of the slaves in the foul den had finished their meagre meal and
lain down on the hard floors to seek, in heavy slumber, the repose which
was essential to fit them for the toils of the coming day.

Some of them awoke and raised themselves on their elbows, but sank back
again on seeing that nothing particular had occurred. A few who had
been rendered callous by their sufferings did not take the trouble to
move, but Francisco and Mariano rose and hastened to the man, supposing
him to have fallen into a fit. Mariano moved with difficulty owing to
the chains, upwards of sixty pounds weight, which he wore as a
punishment for his recent violence.

"Go--go back to your rest," said the man, who lay with clenched teeth
and hands, as Francisco kneeled beside him, "there is nothing the matter
with me."

"Nay, friend, you are mistaken," said Francisco, taking his hand kindly;
"your look, and that perspiration on your brow, tell me that something
is the matter with you. Let me call our jailer, and--"

"Call our jailer!" exclaimed the young man, with a fierce laugh; "d'you
think that he'd take any notice of a sick slave? No, when we get sick
we are driven out to work till we get well. If we don't get well, we
are left to die."

"Surely, surely not!" said Francisco.

"Surely not!" repeated the young man. "Look; look there!"

He pointed as he spoke to the old man who lay on his back at full length
in the recess next to his own.

"See. He is a free man now! I knew he was to be released to-night. I
have seen many and many a one set free thus since I came here."

Francisco was horrified, on going to the place where the old man lay, to
find that he was dead. He had observed him tottering and looking very
feeble at his work in the stone-quarries that day, but in his own misery
had forgotten him since returning to the Bagnio.

"Too true!" he said, returning to the young man; "his troubles are
indeed ended; but tell me what is it that ails thyself."

"'Tis memory," said the young man, raising himself on his elbow, and
gazing sadly into Francisco'