“Robinson, I am Josephs; don't look toward me.” Robinson, scrubbing the wall with more vigor than before, whispered, “How are they using you now, boy?” “Hush! don't speak so loud. Robinson--they are killing me. “The ruffians! They are trying all they know to kill me, too.” “Fry coming.” “Hist!” said Robinson as Josephs crept away; and having scraped off a grain of whitewash with his nail he made a little white mark on his trouser just above his calf, for Josephs to know him by, should they meet next time with visors both down. Josephs gave a slight and rapid signal of intelligence as he disappeared. Two days after this they met on the staircase. The boy, who now looked at every prisoner's trowsers for the white mark, recognized Robinson at some distance and began to speak before they met. “I can't go on much longer like this.” “No more can I.” “I shall go to father.” “Why where is he?” “He is dead.” “I don't care how soon I go there either, but not till I have sent Hawes on before--not for all the world. Pass me, and then come back.” They met again. “Keep up your heart, boy, till his reverence gets well, or goes to heaven. If he lives he will save us somehow. If he dies--I'll tell you a secret. I know where there is a brick I think I can loosen. I mean to smash that beast's skull with it, and then you will be all right, and my heart will feel like a prince.” “Oh! don't do that,” said Josephs piteously. “Better far us he should murder us than we him.” “Murder!” cried Robinson contemptuously. And there was no time to say any more. After this many days passed before these two could get a syllable together. But one day after chapel as the men were being told off to their several tasks Robinson recognized the boy by his figure, and jogging his elbow withdrew a little apart; Josephs followed him, and this time Robinson was the first speaker. “We shall never see Mr. Eden alive again, boy,” said he in a faltering voice. Then in a low gloomy tone he muttered, “I have loosened the brick. The day I lose all hope that day I send Hawes home.” And the thief pointed toward the cellar. “The day you have no more hope, Robinson; that day has come to me this fortnight and more. He tells me every day he will make my life hell to me, and I am sure it has been nothing else ever since I came here.” “Keep up your heart, boy; he hasn't long to live.” “He will live too long for me. I can't stay here any longer. You and I shan't often chat together again; perhaps never.” “Don't talk so, laddie. Keep up your heart--for my sake.” One bitter tearing sob was all the reply. And so these two parted.