"No. 381, get on with your work!" The raucous voice of the warder brought him back to the fact that work was about to commence. As he lifted the hay on his fork he gazed around. The black forms of the warders stood like silhouettes against the sky, their rifles glinting in the sun, a wall as formidable, as impassable, as those of the prison behind him. By a lucky chance the convict who was raking by him now was his pal, No. 303. He had been plying him with questions of roads, paths, and distances to the nearest railway stations, and only yesterday had offered to make an attempt with him to escape. He was a small man with flaxen hair, which now stood up in a short, stiff stubble like a closely-mown cornfield, and the blue, dreamy eyes, whose kindly glance belied the broad arrows which covered every portion of his costume, made one wonder how this kindly little gentleman had earned the ten years, four of which had failed to stamp the convict brand upon his face. In all their many opportunities for secret conversation he had never confided in Rupert his crime or his name. He was a mystery, but his willingness and his ready obedience, his haunting smile and kindly blue eyes, had made him a favourite with the warders, who treated him with a lack of harshness that almost amounted to kindness. And as he worked as though his life depended upon it, and always with the same sad smile, he was allowed more freedom of movement within the limits of the warder’s chain than any other convict. Once or twice during the day, whenever they were close together, No. 303 questioned Rupert as to the part of the moorlands they were on, how far from Princetown or Moretonhampstead. "Keep your eyes open, the chance may come to-day." But Rupert shook his head. What chance had they, surrounded by armed men, in the broad light of day? True, there was always the chance of a fog, and though in the spring they were fairly common, as the summer advanced their appearance was rare. To-day the heat was oppressive, and though the sun shone in a cloudless sky a thin, almost imperceptible, haze hung over the tors, and the peaks shone with a curious light. Rupert noted this, for it sometimes was the precursor of a summer fog, and when these fogs did come they appeared suddenly, without warning—and as suddenly disappeared. In the afternoon a slight breeze, which now and then had blown from the hills, died down. There was not a breath of air. It was with a sigh of relief that even the warders saw the sun sink beneath the bank of grey cloud that had covered the western sky.