"Yes, Miles," he continued, "you must make up your mind to restrain your anger and indignation, because it is useless to give vent to them. That's but a low motive after all. Is it worthy of an intelligent man? I get a slap in the face, and bear it patiently, because I can't help myself. I get the same slap in the face in circumstances where I _can_ help myself, and I resent it fiercely. Humble when I _must_ be so; fierce when I've got the power. Is not this unmanly--childish--humbug? There is no principle here. Principle! I do believe I never had any principle in me worthy of the name. I have been drifting, up to this time, before the winds of caprice and selfish inclination. (A long pause here.) Well, it just comes to this, that whatever happens I must submit with a good grace--at least, as good grace as I can--and hope that an opportunity to escape may occur before long. I have made up my mind to do it--and when I once make up my mind, I--" He paused once more at this point, and the pause was so long that he turned it into a full stop by laying his head on the block of wood which formed his pillow and going to sleep. It will be seen from the above candid remarks that our hero was not quite as confident of his power of will as he used to be,--also, that he was learning a few useful facts in the school of adversity. One evening, after a harder day than usual, Miles was conducted to the prison in which he and his companions had been confined on the day of their arrival. Looking round the cell, he observed, on becoming accustomed to the dim light, that only one other prisoner was there. He was lying on the bare ground in a corner, coiled up like a dog, and with his face to the wall. Relieved to find that he was not to be altogether alone, Miles sat down with his back against the opposite wall, and awaited the waking of his companion with some interest, for although his face was not visible, and his body was clothed in a sort of sacking, his neck and lower limbs showed that he was a white man. But the sleeper did not seem inclined to waken just then. On the contrary, he began, ere long, to snore heavily. Miles gradually fell into a train of thought that seemed to bring back reminiscences of a vague, indefinable sort. Then he suddenly became aware that the snore of the snorer was not unfamiliar. He was on the point of rising to investigate this when the sleeper awoke with a start, sat bolt upright with a look of owlish gravity, and presented the features of Jack Molloy. "Miles, my lad!" cried Jack, springing up to greet his friend warmly, "I thought you was dead." "And, Jack, my dear friend," returned Miles, "I thought--at least I feared--that you must have been tortured to death." "An' you wasn't far wrong, my boy. Stand close to me, and look me straight in the eyes. D'ee think I'm any taller?" "Not much--at least, not to my perception. Why?"