“We lay at Marlborough last night, sir,” he replied, looking with something like awe at the emaciated face of the speaker. “Marlborough!” cried the prisoner, his eyes lighting up; “I was carried off from Marlborough last winter.” And he poured out question after question in the vain hope of gaining news of his family. “But may you not receive visitors?” asked Gabriel, knowing that even criminals were not debarred from this privilege. “We may see no one,” said the poor lawyer, for such he proved to be. “Come, you are unbound now, sit here and I will tell you what to expect.” “With your permission, sir, I will first find some place for my companion to lie; he is wounded, and well-nigh spent.” “I should stow him in yonder corner, next to the man with the fever,” said the lawyer, bitterly. “The air is so foul there that he’ll get a few inches more space.” Gabriel went to reconnoitre the ground, but was fairly beaten back by the pestilent atmosphere. “Any crowding is better than that,” he said. “Here, Passey, stretch yourself by the wall; maybe they will give us food presently.” “Not till to-morrow morning,” said the lawyer; “and then the Provost-Marshal will not overfeed you, my friend. For though the King allows sixpence a day for the prisoners--a fair enough sum--this miserable governor of ours keeps for himself all but five farthings a head.” “And what doth that furnish?” asked Gabriel, beginning to understand the lean and hungry looks of his companions. “A pennyworth of bread, and a little can of a most vile mixture of beer and water,” said the lawyer. Gabriel reflected that by the next morning hunger and thirst would probably be so keen that any diet would be endurable. To him the worst trial at present was the sickening atmosphere of the overcrowded room, which, to one accustomed to sleeping more often than not in the open air, seemed on this hot July night well-nigh insufferable. In a space measuring, perhaps, twenty feet square, some fifty prisoners were pent up night and day. “’Twas here that Mr. Franklyn, Member of Parliament for Marlborough, died,” said the lawyer, in his melancholy voice, “and yonder man with the fever will scarce recover, I think. But hark! there is the curfew ringing, we shall have prayers before settling for the night.” The prisoners all stood, and a short service, led by one of the captive officers, was held. It was this habit which kept the place from becoming the hell on earth which most prisons of the day were apt to become. And that grand simplicity which is the strength of Puritanism made its mighty influence felt, for all present, from the highest to the lowest, held the same religious ideal, and were ready to die for their conviction that each individual soul should have direct communion with God.