Page 636 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

from whatever act of daring he dreaded. ‘We must wait un-
til he goes,’ he whispered eagerly. ‘He might look in.’
Dawes nodded, and Mooney, whose quick ear apprised
him very exactly of the position of the approaching gaoler,
rose from his knees radiant. The sour face of Gimblett ap-
peared at the trap cell-door.
‘All right?’ he asked, somewhat—so the three thought—
less sourly than usual.
‘All right,’ was the reply, and Mooney added, ‘Good-night,
Mr. Gimblett.’
‘I wonder what is making the old man so cheerful,’
thought Gimblett, as he got into the next corridor.
The sound of his echoing footsteps had scarcely died
away, when upon the ears of the two less fortunate casters
of lots fell the dull sound of rending woollen. The lucky man
was tearing a strip from his blanket. ‘I think this will do,’
said he, pulling it between his hands to test its strength. ‘I
am an old man.’ It was possible that he debated concerning
the descent of some abyss into which the strip of blanket
was to lower him. ‘Here, Bland, catch hold. Where are ye?—
don’t be faint-hearted, man. It won’t take ye long.’
It was quite dark now in the cell, but as Bland advanced
his face was like a white mask floating upon the darkness, it
was so ghastly pale. Dawes pressed his lucky comrade’s hand,
and withdrew to the farthest corner. Bland and Mooney
were for a few moments occupied with the rope—doubtless
preparing for escape by means of it. The silence was bro-
ken only by the convulsive jangling of Bland’s irons—he
was shuddering violently. At last Mooney spoke again, in