“How do you feel now?” demanded a voice, which Jack immediately recognized as that of the big Russian who had been with him on the first day he had been confined to the dungeon.
“Pretty weak,” said Jack feebly. “I don’t think I can undergo another such ordeal.”
“A man never knows how much he can stand until put to the test,” said the Russian, with a shrug of his shoulders that was imperceptible to Jack in the darkness.
“But how do you come to be back in here?” demanded Jack. “You were not here last night.”
“No,” said Boris. “But this morning, just after you had been so severely punished, I could keep quiet no longer and expressed myself to General Surgoff.”
“With what result?” asked Jack.
Again the Russian shrugged, but Jack failed to see the gesture.
“The lash,” he replied quietly. “Fifteen lashes; then the dungeon again.”
Jack now got to his feet, though with some difficulty, and leaned on the Russian’s arm.
“It’s no use,” he said, after pacing up and down the dark cell for some moments. “A person is a fool to stay here and put up with this sort of thing. Better death in the snow. To-morrow, when I am again led forth for my lashing, I shall make a break for liberty.”