Heretofore, Tom had been surprised at his own endurance. I think that he was braced more tensely than he had any idea of, and that now came the reaction that is sure to follow overtaxing of the powers. After he had read the note, and had seen how truly his surmises had been fulfilled, he grew weak and nervous. Every now and then a spell of trembling would pass over him, and at last he flung himself down upon the cot, and buried his face in the pillow. “I’d better have died! I’d better have died!” he kept repeating to himself; for, it seemed to him, as though his coming to Eastcaster had brought misery upon every one with whom he had to do. But for him Isaac would have been alive at this time, and Mr. Moor would never have had the burthen of such a great crime upon his soul. At last he fell into a nervous sleep, though, in truth, he scarcely knew whether it was sleep or not, for he seemed to be conscious of everything that was around him. Between twelve and one o’clock his course prison fare was brought in to him. He heard the turnkey open the door, lay the platter of victuals on the table, and then go out again, but he heard it as though it were all a part of the troubled dreams that were upon him. Through his half sleep he heard the court-house bell strike one, and two, and three and four o’clock, and still he lay there. Suddenly there were footsteps in the corridor, a rattle of the key in the lock, and then some one burst into the room. Tom roused himself and sat up—it was Will Gaines. Tom began to tremble, for there was a very strange look in Will’s face. He flung himself down on the chair, and wiped his brow, which was wet with sweat. “Tom,” said he, at last, in a low, solemn voice, “what do you think’s happened?” Tom sprang to his feet, and held out both hands, as though to defend himself. “Oh, Will, Will!” cried he, hoarsely; “don’t tell me any more! I can’t bear any more!” “But you must hear this,” said Will. Tom sat down upon his cot again. “Well,” said he, at last, in a dull voice; “tell me, if you must.” “Edmund Moor has committed suicide.” Tom looked fixedly at Will, and it seemed as though he was a long distance away. The room appeared to lengthen out on all sides of him. Then there was a sound of rushing and roaring in his ears, and a dark cloud seemed to rise and shut in everything from his sight. He heard Will’s voice calling to him, as though from afar—“Tom, Tom, are you sick?” He tried to shape the words, but it seemed as though his lips had no power to move. He felt Will’s arms around him; there was a humming in his ears, and a tingling at his finger tips, and then the dark cloud passed away, and he saw everything. “I’m better now,” said he, and then he sat up. Will was standing in front of him, holding a tumbler of water. He reached out and took the glass, and drained it at a swallow, and it seemed to bring fresh life to him. “I guess I’d better not tell you any more,” said Will.