He got into bed. Lying there in the dark, listening to the ceaseless creaking of the boards and joists, he cursed himself for a fool. His body was on fire. He knew that he could not possibly sleep, and guessed that Mary surely was awake. He was a damned, soft fool, and nothing more! Lying there with eyes open, staring at the darkness, it seemed to him that he heard a soft step on the stairs. The latch of his door started. His heart dissolved within him. He leapt out of bed, trembling, tingling in every limb. Mary had been wiser. He knew it. She had come to him for comfort. She was his. In a moment she would be sinking warm into his arms. His scruples vanished like a puff of smoke. He heard himself swallow, heard his breath coming in short grunts. He opened the door to meet her, to take her. The stair was empty and dark. A rat scuttled away in the wainscot. A dank, wintry air possessed the house. He slammed the door to, viciously. Next morning, before Mary had stirred from her bed, he had set out as usual for the Pentre. The Twenty-Fourth Chapter ON the same day, at noon, George Malpas paraded before the Governor of Shrewsbury Jail to take his discharge. The interview was short, almost friendly. The prisoner had behaved well throughout his term, the chaplain had reported on him as a young man of superior intelligence, and for these reasons a remission of a quarter of his sentence had been recommended and sanctioned. From the governor’s office he was marched across the rigid quadrangle that he knew and hated to another room where he signed a receipt for the personal belongings that had been taken from him in the Lesswardine police-court and now miraculously reappeared. A warder checked them as each was handed out:— ‘One watch. Silver chain with medal. One packet of letters. One notebook and lead pencil. One steel foot-rule, folding. Four shillings and twopence, silver and copper. One pocket-knife.’ He paused. ‘Is that all?’ George Malpas was seized with a sudden anxiety. He tried to speak; but long familiarity with the ways of warders made him frightened to use his tongue. ‘Not half!’ said the other, with a wink. ‘One leather wallet. Fifty pounds in Bank of England notes.’ ‘God! That’s something like!’ said the other, handing it to George with a wink. He thrust it into the breast pocket of the coat which had been placed that morning in his cell, and the action gave him an unfamiliar thrill. What a thing it was to have pockets! ‘Well, Malpas, it’s good-bye, then,’ said the warder, who was also a humorist. ‘Look in any time you’re passing!’