"Sight would be of no use in that dark dungeon," said Crankey Jem, with inhuman obduracy of heart towards his victim.
"Are you not satisfied now, demon—devil—fiend!" almost shrieked the Resurrection Man. "The powder has blinded me, I say!"
"It was damp, and only exploded partially," said the avenger. "Try again!"
"Wretch!" exclaimed Tidkins; and James Cuffin heard him dash himself upon the paved floor of the cell, groaning horribly.
Ten days afterwards, Crankey Jem set to work to open the door of the dungeon.
This was no easy task; inasmuch as the nails which he had driven in were strong, and had caught a firm hold of the wood.
But at length—after two hours' toil—the avenger succeeded in forcing an entrance into the cell.
He knew that he incurred no danger by this step: for, during that interval of ten days, he had scarcely ever quitted his post outside the door of the dungeon;—and there had he remained, regaling his ears with the delicious music formed by the groans—the prayers—the screams—the shrieks—the ravings—and the curses of his victim.
At length those appalling indications of a lingering—slow—agonising death,—the death of famine,—grew fainter and fainter; and in the middle of the ninth night they ceased altogether.