to the opposite extreme and sat all day
long on the solitary stool in his grim abode, his head resting on his
hands, and his mind a prey to the most fearful melancholy.

The second night, however, he slept, and awoke with a steady resolve in
his mind.

"It will never do to give way like this, or I shall be in a brain fever
in no time," he reflected. "I will get leave to have books and writing
materials. I will make the best of a bad business."

He remembered how pleased he had been when Gertrude had once smiled on
him because, when all the others in the party were grumbling at the
discomforts of a certain picnic where the provisions had gone astray, he
had gaily made the best of it and ransacked the nearest cottages for
bread-and-cheese. He set to work bravely now; hoped daily for his
release; read all the books he was allowed to receive, invented solitary
games, began a novel, and drew caricatures.

In October he was again examined; but, having nothing to reveal, it was
inevitable that he could reveal nothing; and he was again sent back to
his cell "to reflect."

I perceived that after this his heart began to fail him.

There existed in the House of Preventive Detention a system of
communication between the luckless prisoners carried on by means of
tapping on the wall. Sigismund, being a clever fellow, had become a
great adept at this telegraphic system, and had struck up a friendship
with a young student in the next cell; this poor fellow had been
imprisoned three years, his sole offence being that he had in his
possession a book of which the Government did not approve, and that he
was first cousin to a well-known Nihilist.

The two became as devoted to each other as Silvio Pellico and Count
Oroboni; but it soon became evident to Valerian Vasilowitch that, unless
Zaluski was released, he would soon succumb to the terrible restrictions
of prison life.

"Keep up your heart, my friend," he used to say. "I have borne it three
years, and am still alive to tell the tale."

"But you are stronger both in mind and body," said Sigismund; "and you
are not madly in love as I am."

And then he would pour forth a rhapsody about Gertrude, and about English
life, and about his hopes and fears for the future; to all of which
Valerian, like the brave fellow he was, replied with words of
encouragement.

But at length there came a day when his friend made no answer to his
usual morning greeting.

"Are you ill?" he a