A number of prisoners were assembled in the passage; Peace was told to join them. Then the whole of the culprits were marched along the stone passage until they came to a large low-roofed hall. From this they ascended a dark winding staircase, which led into the chapel. Peace observed among the motley group the gipsy, Mr. Green, the cadaverous-looking gentleman who was about to give the history of his life in the lock-up, together with many others whose faces he recognised. The last-named looked even more ghastly than ever. Nods were exchanged, but not a word was spoken by any of the prisoners. The chapel was a good-sized lofty room. In it were two large cages――large spaces parted off with iron bars. Over these was a gallery, with a thick curtain in front, which had been constructed for the exclusive use of the female prisoners. In one of the cages were about sixteen, who had been tried and sentenced, and were waiting to be drafted off to the several prisons or convict establishments. All were cropped and shaven close, every vestige of beard being removed, and their hair cut down to about an inch in length. They were clad in rough grey jackets, trousers, and vests, with coarse blue-striped shirts. While the male prisoners were assembling the female portion were coming into the chapel by another door, and sat in their own gallery, quite out of the sight of the male prisoners. Two female warders sat behind the female prisoners, and two male warders took their station on each side of the males. The congregation was of a very motley character: the generality of the boys were poor and ragged; some of them were very keen-eyed and restless in their manner――others were apparently the children of respectable parents. Presently the chaplain entered in his white gown, followed by an elderly warder, who officiated as clerk. During the devotional exercises most of the prisoners leaned forward on the seat in front of them. On one side of the pulpit and reader’s desk was the governor’s pew, in which was seated that awful functionary. He was a tall, elderly man, with a partially bald head. When the service was over and the chaplain had retired, the governor was the first to lead the way out. The door was unlocked by his deputy and down stairs the prisoners were marched in military order. “You look very ill, sir,” whispered Peace to the cadaverous-looking man who was now next to him. “Going home,” returned the other. “It matters not whether they convict or acquit me, my race is nearly run.” “Silence,” exclaimed a warder. Not another word was spoken. The prisoners went along with their hands behind them like so many schoolboys. The ceremony was humiliating to the last degree. Peace was directed to cross over to a little office where the governor was standing. He was then told to take off his boots and stand under a post with numbers on it, with a sliding piece of brass in its centre. It was a machine for measuring his height.