The morning past; Heartall did not return to the work-room. When the dinner hour arrived, Sam expected that he should rejoin Heartall in the airing-ground--but no Heartall was there. He returned into the work-room, still Heartall did not make his appearance. So passed the day. At night, when the prisoners were removed to their dormitory, Sam looked out for Heartall, but could not see him. It would seem that he must have suffered much at that moment, for he addressed the turnkey--a thing which he had never done before. "Is Heartall sick?" was his question. "No," replied the turnkey. "Why is it, then, that he has not again made his appearance to-day?" "Ah," replied the turnkey, carelessly, "they have put him in another ward." The witnesses who deposed to these facts at a later period, remarked, that at this answer, Sam's hand, in which was a lighted candle, trembled a little. He again asked, calmly, "Whose order was this?" The turnkey said "Mr. Flint's." The name of the director of the work-rooms was Flint. The next day went by like the last, but no news of Heartall. That evening, when the day's work ended, Mr. Flint came to make his usual round of inspection. As soon as Sam Needy saw him, he took off his cap of coarse wool, buttoned his gray vest, sad livery of the work-house, (it is a principle in prisons, that a vest, respectfully buttoned, bespeaks the favor of the superior officers,) and placed himself at the end of his bench, waiting till the director came by. He passed. "Sir," said Sam. The director stopped and turned half round. "Sir," said Sam, "is it true that Heartall's ward has been changed?" "Yes," returned the director. "Sir," continued Sam, "I cannot live without Heartall; you know that with the ration of the house I have not enough to eat, and that Heartall shared his bread with me." "That was his business," replied the director. "Sir, is there no means of getting Heartall replaced in the same ward as myself?" "Impossible! it is so decided." "By whom?" "By myself." "Mr. Flint," persisted Sam, "the question is my life or death, and it depends upon you." "I never revoke my decisions." "Sir, is it because I have given you offence?" "None." "In that case," said Sam, "why do you separate me from Heartall?" "_It is my will_" said the director. With this explanation he went away. Sam Needy stooped his head and made no answer. Poor caged lion, from whom they had taken his dog! The grief of this separation in no way changed the prisoner's almost disease of voracity. Nor was he, in other respects, obviously altered. He did not speak of Heartall to any of his comrades. He walked alone in the airing-ground, in the hours of recreation, and suffered hunger--nothing more.