“So, No. 76”, said he, “this was the threatened escape?” Hogarth was now all contrition and hanging head. “I beg for mercy”, he said, with a little smile. “Oh, I am not your judge...Where were you when the officers were looking for you in the yard?” “I was hiding in that little nook”. “Confounded carelessness on someone's part...And what cut and swelled your mouth?” “I bashed into the wall in the nook” (The can had cut him!). “You must have been mad!” “Yes, sir”. During the next two weeks he had round his ankles a chain which, rising in two loops, was fastened to a band round his waist; and he was set to turn “the crank”. Finally, he was led forth to stand before the periodic Director, who, after reading the report, turned to a volume of writing in which was Hogarth's record: good--till lately; and the Director addressed him with sternness, which yet was paternal: he would sentence him to one month in a punishment cell, to two months in chains, and to one dozen lashes. And two days later he was led to the flogging-hall, which, as he approached it, sent forth screams; the doctor looked at him and consented; the Governor said: “Get it over”. Hogarth stripped to the waist, his teeth chattering: but not with fear. On the contrary, he felt a touch of exultation. The wrists of his outstretched arms having been bound to “the triangle”, the Governor gave the sign, the cat rose, and sang, and fell. Slowly up, and whistlingly down, rasping, reaping. At the seventh shock he fainted: and thence onward had a long dream, in which he saw Rebekah Frankl in Hindoo dress and jewellery, and she threw at him a red rose black at heart with passion, and her body balanced in dance, and her hands clapped at him. During the next month he tholed the cold of that same punishment-cell; and during the next was in his old cell, but in chains, picking oakum. All this time, if he was aware of high winds by night, he was in an agony, till the next day the great bell rang its treble. About the middle of February he was once more trenching in the open air. But a fear had stolen into his mind: for the string of tin was not strong, and the winds of the last month may have dislocated it. In any case, he might have to wait a year, two, ten.... Occasionally he would redden with suppressed and turbulent energy. But on the 17th of March, toward evening, England was visited by a storm long remembered, lasting three days, during which the poor prisoners were comforted with rations of hot soup and cocoa. On the morning of the fourth day when the gangs were once more taken out Hogarth was hardly conscious of frigid winds or agued limbs: for three days the great bell of Colmoor had not rung; and his ears were open. Of the prisoners, who, by practised instinct, get to know the moment at which it should sound, three presently straightened up, spade in hand, to glance at the prison: and suddenly heard--a sound.