“If the parson ever gets well he will make this a handle to ruin you and me.” “Me, sir! I only obey orders.” “That won't save you. If they get the better of me you will suffer along with me.” “I shouldn't wonder. I told you you were carrying it too far, but you wouldn't listen to me.” “I was wrong, Fry. I ought to have listened to you, for you are the only one that is faithful to me in the jail.” “I know my duty, sir, and I try to do it.” “What are we to do with him, Fry?” “Well, I don't think he ought to lie on the floor. I'd let him have his bed now, I think.” “You are right. I'll send for it. Ah! here is Evans. Go for No. 15's bed.” Evans, standing at the door, had caught but a glimpse of the object that lay on the floor, but that glimpse was enough. He went out and said to Hodges, “Wasn't it you that took Josephs' bed away last night?” The man cowered under the question. “Well, you are to go and fetch it back, the governor says.” Hodges went away for it without a word. Evans returned to the cell. He came and kneeled down by Josephs and laid his hand upon him. “I feared it! I feared it!” said he. “Why he has been dead a long time. Ah! your reverence, why did you come in when I told you not? Poor Josephs is no more, Sir.” Mr. Eden, who had already saluted Mr. Hawes with grave politeness, though without any affectation of good-will, came slowly up, and sinking his voice to a whisper in presence of death said in pitiful accents, “Poor child! he was always sickly. Six weeks ago I feared we should lose him, but he seemed to get better.” He was now kneeling beside him. “Was he long ill, sir?” asked he of Hawes. “Probably he was, for he is much wasted. I can feel all his bones.” Hardened as they were, Hawes and Fry looked at one another in some confusion. Presently Mr. Eden started back. “Why, what is this? he is wet. He is wet from head to foot. What is the cause of this? Can you tell me, Mr. Hawes?” Mr. Hawes did not answer, but Evans did. “I am afraid it is the bucket, your reverence. They soused him in the yard late last night.” “Did they?” said Mr. Eden, looking the men full in the face. “Then they have the more to repent of this morning. But stay. Why then he was not under the doctor's hands, Evans?” “La! bless you, no. He was harder worked and worse fed than any man in the jail.” “At work last night! Then at what hour did he die? He is stiff and cold. This is a very sudden death. Did any one see this boy die?” The men gave no answer, but the last words--“Did any one see this boy die?”--seemed to give Evans a new light. “No!” he cried. “No one saw him die. Look here, sir. See what is dangling from the window--his handkerchief.” “And this mark round his throat, Evans. He has destroyed himself.” And Mr. Eden recoiled from the corpse.