"Mr. Flint," persisted Sam, "the question is my life or death, and it depends upon you."
"I never revoke my decisions."
"Sir, is it because I have given you offence?"
"None."
"In that case," said Sam, "why do you separate me from Heartall?"
"It is my will" said the director.
With this explanation he went away.
Sam Needy stooped his head and made no answer. Poor caged lion, from whom they had taken his dog!
The grief of this separation in no way changed the prisoner's almost disease of voracity. Nor was he, in other respects, obviously altered. He did not speak of Heartall to any of his comrades. He walked alone in the airing-ground, in the hours of recreation, and suffered hunger—nothing more.
Nevertheless, those who knew him well, remarked something of a sinister and sombre expression which daily overspread his countenance more and more. In other respects he was gentler than ever. Many wished to share their ration with him, but he refused with a smile.