To my mental agony was added physical suffering, due to the unnatural position of my arms. For the sake of relief I had often moved them to and fro and up and down at the back of the pillar. I was now moving them farther round than they had been before, when my wrists came in contact with something sharp. Feeling with my fingers as well as I could, I discovered that a part of the column had crumbled away with time and presented a rough, ragged edge. An idea darted into my mind. An idea? Say an inspiration rather. My wrists were not in contact--the breadth of the pillar prevented that--there was a distance of about a foot between them. The silken band that secured me was drawn in a tight slip-knot round one wrist, and, proceeding to the other, encircled it in the same manner, and then hung downwards trailing on the floor. Now if I could but bring the band connecting my two wrists across the sharp edge of this stone, steady attrition would tear it into two portions, and I should be free. With some difficulty I worked the twisted silk into the requisite place, and then began as vigorous a friction as my cramped position would allow, dreading every moment lest the madman should perceive my motions and detect their cause. Though bending all my energies to the task before me, I tried at the same time to give a listening ear to the artist, but I am of opinion that my further report of his utterances is far from being a faithful one. "I donned my rival's attire. I was no more Angelo: I was the Captain. How well his dress became me! Observe my military cloak, my martial stride! See my painted scar--my brown hair and beard! I had prepared for all this weeks beforehand. Who that saw me now would take me for poor 'Il Divino,' whose pictures are always a failure? But I had no time to lose--the Dover train would be starting soon--and, leaving my divine model locked up in the studio, I hurried off to the station, posting on my way the forged letter that was to tell Daphne that her bridegroom had fled to the Continent. Now for Dover to prove the truth of the letter. The booking-clerk, the guard of the train, the ticket-collector, could all swear that an officer in every way resembling Captain Willard had travelled to Dover on that Christmas morning. I stood on the pier-head expressly for you to see me! I knew that you were coming in by that steamer, for Daphne had told me the hour of your intended arrival. Ho, ho! his own brother thrown off the scent, and ready to swear he had seen George at Dover, at the very time that George was lying dead in my studio! It was rare glee afterwards to listen with grave face to the various theories propounded in my presence to account for Captain Willard's flight. And the world calls me mad!" I was not aware that the world did so; but if it did, it had ample reason in his wild laugh, and demoniac glee. However, as his eyes were off me, I worked away desperately at my silken manacles.