“The governor won’t believe you. It aint likely, I should say.”
“But I will promise. Tell him to be merciful. I be sorry for what I ha’ done.”
“No good your saying that. He’s lost faith in you. You’ve nobody but yourself to blame.”
Chudley groaned and said no more.
The door was shut with a loud bang, the lock was turned, and the prisoner was alone.
Two hours afterwards, when the turnkeys came in with his dinner of gaol soup and his prison bread, they found him crouched in the farthest corner of the cell, gnawing his hands, and uttering low groans.
He was also trembling all over, and his eyes had a lack-lustre vacant expression like those of a madman.
They exchanged glances and shook their heads, and when the prisoner was shut in again they threw out hints that he might endeavour to commit suicide.
To say the truth, they were not very far out in their reckoning; Chudley had thoughts of suicide at that time, but he had not the means to put it into practice.