He sat down on the side of his bed and pressed his hands to his temples, which were throbbing painfully. He remained for some time lost in thought.
“I am but a poor, silly fool after all,” he presently ejaculated. “Why should a man like me shudder at the darkness. What does it matter when one’s asleep whether there be light or not? How long am I to remain here, I wonder, and what will be their next move?”
He endeavoured in vain to penetrate the gloom—endeavoured to make out the objects in his cell, but all to no purpose.
It was the first time in his life that he had been immured in a refractory cell—he had heard the horrors of the place described by those who had suffered confinement in such places—now he had to learn them by his own bitter experience.
“After all it is better than being bashed (flogged),” said he, “but it is bad enough, and a little of it goes a long way.”
“If I keep still I shall be benumbed with cold. I must endeavour to get some exercise.”
He groped to the wall, and keeping his hand on it, went round and round like a caged wolf. This exercise seemed to afford him some temporary relief, which, however, was but of a transient nature. He groaned and gnashed his teeth—the silence and gloom seemed almost insupportable. He sat himself once more on the side of his bed.
“What have I done that I should be punished thus?” he ejaculated. “Endeavour to gain my liberty. Every person would do that if he saw a chance; he’d be a born idiot if he did not.”
He sat rocking himself to and fro—trying not to think of anything, for now the miserable nature of his position seemed to fall upon him with additional force.
“If they would only let me have one ray of light, however feeble, I would not complain. Nay, I would be satisfied, but this impenetrable gloom is more than mortal man can bear. I shall go mad. In a short time they will let me out of this place a howling maniac.”