erval of dreary, blank darkness, and then there
were other visions, too wild and strange to describe, and soon
the darkness of annihilation settled upon his soul. How long a
time elapsed while in this state of insensibility, he could not
say; but he was at length half-aroused by voices near him, and
he was conscious that some hand was feeling for his pulse, and
that men were carrying him out of the dungeon. He afterwards
learned that it was the jailer and the physician.

CHAPTER X.

THE HOSPITAL.

Upon a narrow cot, in the Hospital apartment of the jail, they
laid Rodney, and immediately prepared the medicines suited to
his case. The medicines were at length administered, and, with a
pleasant consciousness of comfort and attention, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, it was evening; he was perfectly conscious, and felt
better; but it was a long time before he could recall his thoughts,
and understand where he was, and how he had come thither. He looked
around him, and saw a line of cots on each side of him. About a
dozen of them were occupied by sick men. A large case of medicines,
placed on a writing-desk, stood at one end of the room. Two or
three men, who acted as nurses, were sitting near it, talking and
laughing together. In another part of the room, by a grated window,
looking out upon the pleasant sunset, were two of the convalescent
prisoners, pale and thin, conversing softly and sadly. There was
not a face he knew,--none that seemed to feel the slightest
interest for him; and the wicked scenes of the past two months, and
the unhappy circumstances of the present hour, flashed through his
mind, and he hid his face in his pillow and wept.

He heard steps softly approach his cot, and knew that some one
was standing beside him. But he could not stifle his sobs, and
he did not dare to look up.

"I am glad to see that you are better, though I am sorry to see
you so much troubled, my poor boy," said a soft, kind voice.

It was long since he had been spoken to in a kind tone, and he
only wept the more bitterly, and convulsively pressed his face
closer to the pillow. Presently he felt an arm passed slowly
under the pillow, which wound around his neck, and gently drew
his head toward the stranger.

"Come, come," said the same soft voice, "don't give way to such
grief; look up, and talk to me. Let me be a friend to you."

Rodney yielded to the encircling arm, and turned his tearful
eyes to the man who spok