Up and down, up and down, by the hour together. The morning had drawn to noon, the noon to evening; and still he was confined, with only an indefinite prospect of release. It was hideous, it was outrageous; yet the humour of it all might have buoyed him up against the moment of his liberation, had not his soul--in its present condition, introspective and self-torturing--so writhed in exquisite anguish over a never-ceasing fear, or foreboding, of _something_--some vague disaster that, it seemed to him, his prolonged absence from home must precipitate. To this something he would, or could, give no name; but his thoughts circled round the shadow of it, feigning a self-assurance that there was no core of significance therein to terrify them--yet terrified nevertheless. At the first he had flattered himself that mid-day, or thereabouts, would bring him his deliverance. The whole incident was so preposterous that, under the burden of his more private affairs, he would not consider it seriously. But, as the morning passed, and the chill dark day drew on, his anger and anxiety increased upon him to such an extent that he might hardly restrain himself from giving them childish expression in a furious onslaught on the panels of his door. He refrained, however, and, listening at the keyhole instead, was presently aware of the regular tramp of a sentry in the passage. By-and-by, when the footsteps came opposite him, he kicked out and hailed-- “Hullo, there!” The man stopped. “_Qu’as-tu_?” he growled. “_Ne t’emporte pas, citoyen_.” “My temper!” shouted Ned; “but I shall likely lose my senses if I am left longer without food.” “As to that,” said the sentry--and broke off and retreated. In a very little while the key turned once more, and a jailer entered with a platter of uninviting scraps. “Take the filth away!” cried Ned furiously. “Thou canst procure me something fit to eat, I suppose?” “Surely, for the paying, citizen.” “Go, then!” He commissioned the man, and then must drag out another half-hour, awaiting the fellow’s reappearance. At length the latter returned, bearing a basket containing a cold fowl, bread, and a bottle of red wine. “Now, monsieur jaquemart,” said Ned, as he tackled the provender, “how long is permitted to this farce in the playing?” “I do not understand you.” “Why, a joke is a joke; but I would have you go and explain to our pleasant commissary, of the Section Croix Blanche, that brevity is the soul of wit.” “Again, I do not understand.” Ned wagged his finger at the man. “I have submitted to this outrage very patiently; but, I warn you, there will be reprisals by-and-by.” “That is all one to me.” “Wilt thou take a message from me to the commissary?” “He has left the prison these many hours.” “And, when to return?” The jailer shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps to-morrow--at any time, or not at all.” Ned jumped to his feet, upsetting the basket.