Now was Ráby's wish fulfilled, he was rid of unpleasant company and was alone. But solitude had been more welcome if they had allowed him his books. As it was, he only had his own thoughts for company, and these were not cheerful companions. Ráby's soul was full of rage against the whole world, but most of all was he angry with his own weak body that was so sensitive to hunger and cold, that trembled at the thought of death, and felt the pressure of its chains so keenly. Why could not he carry his body as defiantly as he bore his soul within him? But he knew that he needed some support, therefore he began to eat mechanically the black bread, but had it been the daintiest fare possible, it had tasted all the same to him. Only when he raised the pitcher to his lips, did he remember the words of the heyduke about the "bottom coming off." He began to examine the pitcher, and presently, by dint of close scrutiny, he found that it had a false bottom which screwed on, and found a cavity in which was concealed a bottle of ink, pen and paper. With them were some slices of cold meat, as well as a note containing these words: "Fear nothing; the Emperor knows all. Your friends will not forsake you. Write once more to the Emperor." Now he no longer feared solitude. The phantoms and fears which had tormented him hitherto, vanished with the sight of pen and ink. A written thought is a substantial friend. So he committed to paper all that had befallen him, hid the writing again in the bottom of the pitcher, and re-screwed it on. The meat, too, revived him, and the consciousness that he was not left to his fate, and that he could still communicate with the outer world, was strangely comforting. Who his unknown friend might be, he could not conceive. It must be some one more powerful than the weak girl whose part in this business his own heart had already suggested to him. The next morning, in came the gaoler with the same heyduke, who carried away the pitcher, and at mid-day brought him his rations as before. Ráby could hardly wait till he had gone, to unscrew his pitcher. Sure enough, he found some writing materials therein, and the money for covering the fee of a special courier for his letter. His friends must be wealthy people. He quickly hid all again, however, for steps were approaching his cell. The door opened, and three men came in, who proved to be Laskóy, Petray, and the lieutenant of Szent-Endre. The latter handed to Ráby the bill of his indictment. The prisoner immediately handed it back to him. "It is not you who are the accusers in this matter, but rather I," he said haughtily. "It is for me to impeach you, not the reverse. I refuse to accept it." "Take care," cried Laskóy. "Weigh well the consequences of this rejection. If you do not receive the indictment, we will soon tackle you as a contumacious criminal." "I dare you to do it," returned Ráby. "The man is a fool; he shall take it," cried Laskóy, beside himself with rage.