How hot it was! Surely it must be going to thunder; the air was so close and oppressive. He moved restlessly on the pallet and put the bandaged right hand behind his head for a pillow; then drew it away again. How it burned and throbbed! And all the old wounds were beginning to ache, with a dull, faint persistence. What was the matter with them? Oh, absurd! It was only the thundery weather. He would go to sleep and get a little rest before beginning his filing.
Eight bars, and all so thick and strong! How many more were there left to file? Surely not many. He must have been filing for hours,—interminable hours—yes, of course, that was what made his arm ache—— And how it ached; right through to the very bone! But it could hardly be the filing that made his side ache so; and the throbbing, burning pain in the lame leg—was that from filing?
He started up. No, he had not been asleep; he had been dreaming with open eyes—dreaming of filing, and it was all still to do. There stood the window-bars, untouched, strong and firm as ever. And there was ten striking from the clock-tower in the distance. He must get to work.
He looked through the spy-hole, and, seeing that no one was watching, took one of the files from his breast.
No, there was nothing the matter with him—nothing! It was all imagination. The pain in his side was indigestion, or a chill, or some such thing; not much wonder, after three weeks of this insufferable prison food and air. As for the aching and throbbing all over, it was partly nervous trouble and partly want of exercise. Yes, that was it, no doubt; want of exercise. How absurd not to have thought of that before!
He would sit down a little bit, though, and let it pass before he got to work. It would be sure to go over in a minute or two.
To sit still was worse than all. When he sat still he was at its mercy, and his face grew gray with fear. No, he must get up and set to work, and shake it off. It should depend upon his will to feel or not to feel; and he would not feel, he would force it back.
He stood up again and spoke to himself, aloud and distinctly:
“I am not ill; I have no time to be ill. I have those bars to file, and I am not going to be ill.”