“_Run!_ I am not such a young man! Have pity Hogarth”. “Bah! Be a man”. The priest approached his mouth to Hogarth's ear: “_I should die of fright!_ My heart--” “What would it matter? I thought you had more beans”. “But have you--a plan?” “Yes. You must run to the copse--” “I shall be shot!” “Probably”. “I _could_ not--” “Then, do not”. “Tell me, boy! Tell me, Hogarth...” “Within the copse to the left of the quarry there is almost certainly at this moment waiting a man who, as soon as you pronounce my name, will help you--” “You say _almost_ certainly”. “I can't see him, O'Hara. But I should say he is there on a morning like this”. “_What_ a risk! _What_ a risk!” went the priest with lifted eyelids each time. “You cannot escape from prison without risk. But I, personally, would venture upon ten times as much, if I thought it becoming. There is, however, another risk: that you may not strike the part of the copse where he is. But near the 1 middle it is high--” “Why, it is nothing but risks!” whined O'Hara with opening arms. “You are not bound to try it. By the way--can you swim?” “Yes--I suppose so--yes”. “Then lift yourself to it, and risk it. I should, if I were you. Think of liberty, activity. Prick your spirit, grip at it, and spring it”. “Do you think I shall be shot?” “No! It does not matter! Crush your doubts, martyr yourself to your aim, and your aim will give you the crown of martyrdom”. “Well--God reward you--I will think of it--” “_Do_ it!” “I will!” “In that case, don't trust to your own eyes--_I_ will give you the signal with my handkerchief--so: you keep your eyes fixed on me. Then run, zigzagging. And tell Loveday for me to look after you, and not make any more plans for me. Good-bye, O'Hara! All this is very unselfish of me, for I lose my old talky-talky O'Hara--” They parted at the rock, and set to work. As minutes, half-hours passed, the condition of O'Hara became piteous, hideous. His knees knocked together. Like death he dreaded, like life awaited, that signal. He said to himself: “This Hogarth will be my ruin...God deal not with me after my sins...!” Hogarth was waiting that the warders' morning watchfulness might yield to the influence of use and time; but near nine, when the morning fog showed signs of thinning, he approached the water-can to ask for a drink, O'Hara being then two yards from him, wheeling a barrow. As he stooped to the water, his huge stare ranged the moor, took in the truth of it, and, after waiting ten, fifteen seconds, he upset the can. As two officers, at the outcry, ran toward the spot, Hogarth, his eyes fixed upon them, waited--and all at once, with a flourish, drew his handkerchief. O'Hara, with a heavy but impassioned run, was away... He had not run five yards when a chorus of whistles was shrilling. And quick, that monotony reels into a very frenzy of sensation: it is no more the same world, the same men. Lo, in the Palace of Continuity is an Event. 33 was off.