With heaven's light upon their wings;
Every word has its own spirit,
True or false, that never dies;
Every word man's lips have uttered
Echoes in God's skies.
A. A. PROCTER.


My labours were now nearly at an end, and being, so to speak, off
duty, I could occupy myself just as I pleased. I therefore resolved
to keep watch over Zaluski in his prison.

For the first few hours after his arrest he was in a violent
passion; he paced up and down his tiny cell like a lion in a cage;
he was beside himself with indignation, and the blood leapt through
his veins like wildfire.

Then he became a little ashamed of himself and tried to grow quiet,
and after a sleepless night he passed to the opposite extreme and
sat all day long on the solitary stool in his grim abode, his head
resting on his hands, and his mind a prey to the most fearful
melancholy.

The second night, however, he slept, and awoke with a steady resolve
in his mind.

"It will never do to give way like this, or I shall be in a brain
fever in no time," he reflected. "I will get leave to have books
and writing materials. I will make the best of a bad business."