walked, until finally he lay down, after he had assured himself that the last change of the guards before midnight had taken place. Somewhere a clock struck twelve. The prisoners shuddered and listened, but Shilo made no move. Then suddenly there travelled along the walls a conglomerate of agitated signals.
"That is Shilo," was whispered through all the rooms.
The condemned man spelled out word after word.
"Mironoff, Mironoff, it is already past midnight and there is no answer from the tribunal! I am so terribly afraid. … What will it be? Shall I die? Is it possible?"
"Christ have mercy on us!" breathed one of the prisoners near Mironoff, sighing and wringing his hands.
Mironoff answered with firm, strong raps.
"Such is life. We live to-day and are gone to-morrow. Each of us must one day die, Peter."
"But it is night already, and at dawn, they will come and get me. Is it possible? Oh, Lord!"
"Don't give way, Peter; don't be afraid. We shall all cross, sooner or later, all of us."
"But I am afraid … I am afraid—and of what?"
The signals through the wall ceased, yet for a long time the whole prison listened in an unreasoned terror of suspense. But from the cell of the condemned man there came no further sound. Only the barking of dogs and the other never-ceasing noises of the night floated in from the town, while through the banks of black clouds scudding north the moon searched out an occasional rift to look down upon the dark, threatening mass of the prison.
"I am afraid. Give me some help!" came once more in the code of the condemned.
This time Mironoff did not answer.
