Part 13 (2/2)

The clatter and noises have ceased; the steps have died away All is still in the dark hall Only occasional shadows flit by, silent, ghostlike

II

”Forward,line of prisoners, in stripes and lockstep, rese fro forward, yet apparently re in the saular te accent, as each division, flanked by officers, approaches and passes my cell Brutal faces, repulsive in their stolid indifference or ent eye, or sympathetic expression, but accentuates the features of the striped line: coarse and sinister, with the guilty-treacherous look of the ruthlessly hunted Head bent, right ar the shoulder of the ray, theto the shouted couards on the flanks, stern and alert

The rows fainter and dies with the hollow thud of the last footfall, behind the closed double door leading into the prison yard The pall of silence descends upon the cell-house I feel utterly alone, deserted and forsaken a pile of stone and iron

The stillness overwhelht I am buried within the narroalls; thedown uponOh, I can't, I can't live here! I can't suffer this agony Twenty-two years! It is a lifetime No, it's i the spoon, I throw myself on the bed My eyes wander over the cell, faintly lit by the light in the hall: the ashed walls, yelloith damp--the splashes of dark-red blood at the head of the bed--the clumps of vermin around the holes in the wall--the small table and the rickety chair--the filthy floor, black and gray in spots

Why, it's stone! I can sharpen the spoon Cautiously I crouch in the corner The tin glides over the greasy surface, noiselessly, smoothly, till the thick layer of filth is worn off Then it scratches and scrapes With the pillow I deaden the rasping sound The e across er Drops of blood trickle down to the floor The wound is ragged, but the blade is keen Stealthily I crawl back into bed My hand gropes for my heart I touch the spot with the blade Between the ribs--here--I'll be dead when they find anda could be ainstbut cowardice But what is he afraid of? They can't ied for over a year He could easily prove it The traitor! Preached propaganda by deed all his life--now he repudiates the first _Attentat_ in this country

What treitation he could have made of it! Now he denies h and trusted ether we set up the secret circular in the _Freiheit_ office It was in William Street We waited for the other coht It was to recoo to Russia then Yes, to Russia Perhaps I o? What was it? Well, I can't think of it now It's peculiar, though But America was more important Plenty of revolutionists in Russia And now Oh, I'll never do anything more

I'll be dead soon They'll find me cold--a pool of blood under me--the mattress will be red--no, it will be dark-red, and the blood will soak through the straw I wonder how ush fro and quick--it will not pain ed--it h I ainst the blade? No, the tin rasp it close--like this--then a quick drive--right into the heart--it's the surest way I ht discover me still alive No, no! I must die at once They'll find --the blade still in it--they'll call the doctor--”He's dead” And the Girl and Fedya and the others will hear of it--she'll be sad--but she will understand Yes, she will be glad--they couldn't torture me here--she'll know I cheated them--yes, she Where is she now? What does she think of it all? Does she, too, think I've failed?

And Fedya, also? If I'd only hear from her--just once It would be easier to die But she'll understand, she--

”Git off that bed! Don't you know the rules, eh? Get out o' there!”

Horrified, speechless, I spring to rip It strikes the floor, clinking on the stone loudly, dauard There is so repulsively familiar about the tall man, his mouth drawn into a derisive s!

”Foxy, ain't you? GihFor a second I hesitate I must hide the spoon I cannot afford to lose it--not to this brute--

”Cap'n, here!”

I aed from the cell The tall keeper carefully exa over his face

”Look, Cap'n Sharp as a razor Pretty desp'rate, eh?”

”Take his”

III

In the rotunda, connecting the north and south cell-houses, the Deputy stands at a high desk Angular and bony, with slightly stooped shoulders, his face is a mass of minute wrinkles seas thin, compressed lips The steely eyes measure me coldly, unfriendly

”Who is this?”

The low, almost feminine, voice sharply accentuates the cadaver-like face and figure The contrast is startling

”A 7”