It Is Never Too Late to Mend. Charles Reade Reade

moved toward the door in silence.

      The turnkey muttered, “He has been very strange this few days past. Mr. Fry thinks he is hardly safe.” Then, turning to the new chaplain, the man, whose name was Evans, said, “Better not go into his cell, sir, without one of us with you.”

      “What is the matter with him?” inquired the reverend gentleman.

      “Oh, I don't know as there is anything the matter with him; only he has been disciplined once or twice, and it goes down the wrong way with some of them at first starting. Governor says he will have to be put in the dark cell if he does not get better.”

      “The dark cell? hum! Pray what is the effect of the dark cell on a prisoner?”

      “Well, sir, it cows them more than anything.”

      “Where are your dark cells?”

      “They are down below, sir. You can look at them after the kitchen.”

      “I must go into the town,” said Mr. Lepel, looking at his watch. “I promised to dine with my relations at three o'clock.”

      “Come and see the oubliettes first. We have seen everything else.”

      “With all my heart!”

      They descended below the ground-floor, and then Evans unlocked a massive tight-fitting door opening upon what appeared to be a black substance; this was, however, no substance—but vacancy without any degree of light. The light crossing the threshold from the open door seemed to cut a slice out of it.

      The newcomers looked into it. Mr. Lepel with grim satisfaction, the other with awe and curiosity.

      “When shall you be back, Lepel?” inquired he thoughtfully.

      “Oh, before nine o'clock.”

      “Then perhaps you will both do me the honor to drink a cup of tea with me,” said Mr. Jones, courteously.

      “With pleasure.”

      “Good-by, then, for the present,” said the new chaplain.

      “Why, where are you going?”

      “In here.”

      “What, into the dark cell?”

      “Yes!”

      “Well!” ejaculated Evans.

      “You won't stay there long.”

      “Until you return, Lepel.”

      “What a fancy!”

      Mr. Jones looked not a little surprised. The turnkey grinned. The reverend gentleman stepped at once into the cell and was lost to sight.

      “Do not let me out before eight o'clock,” said his voice, “and you, Lepel, inquire for me as soon as you return, for I feel a little nervous. Now shut the door.”

      The door was closed on the reverend gentleman, and the little group outside, after looking at one another with a humorous expression, separated, and each went after his own affairs.

      Evans lingered behind, and took a look at the massy door, behind which for the first time a man had gone voluntarily, and after grave deliberation delivered himself at long intervals of the two following profound reflections:

      “Well! I'm blest!!”

      “Well! I'm blowed!!”

CHAPTER XIV.

       Table of Contents

      MR. LEPEL returned somewhat earlier than he had intended. On entering the jail it so happened that he met the governor, and seized this opportunity of conversing with him.

      He expressed at once so warm an admiration of the jail and the system pursued in it, that Hawes began to take a fancy to him.

      They compared notes, and agreed that no system but the separate and silent had a leg to stand on; and as they returned together from visiting the ground-floor cells, Mr. Lepel had the honor of giving a new light to Hawes himself.

      “If I could have my way the debtors should be in separate cells. I would have but one system in a jail.”

      Hawes laughed incredulously. “There would be a fine outcry if we treated the debtors the same as we do the rogues.”

      “Mr. Hawes,” said the other firmly, “an honest man very seldom finds his way into any part of a jail. Extravagant people and tradesmen who have abused the principle of credit, deserve punishment, and above all require discipline and compulsory self-communion to bring them to amend their ways.”

      “That is right, sir,” cried Hawes, a sudden light breaking on him, “and it certainly is a mistake letting them enjoy themselves.”

      “And corrupt each other.”

      Hawes. A prison should be confinement.

      Lepel. And seclusion from all but profitable company.

      Hawes. It is not a place of amusement.

      Lepel. There should be no idle conversation.

      “And no noise,” put in Hawes hastily.

      “However, this prison is a model for all the prisons in the land, and I shall feel quite sad when I go back to my duty in Cumberland.”

      “Cumberland? Why, you are our new chaplain, aren't ye?”

      “No! I am not so fortunate, I am a friend of his; my name is Lepel.”

      “Oh, you are Mr. Lepel, and where is our one? I heard he had been all over the jail.”

      “What, have you not seen him?”

      “No! he has never been near me. Not very polite, I think.”

      “Oh! oh!”

      “Hallo! what is wrong!”

      “I think I know where he is; he is not far off. I will go and find him if you will excuse me.”

      “No! we won't trouble you. Here, Hodges, come here. Have you seen the new chaplain—where is he?”

      “Well, sir, Evans tells me he is—” click!

      “Confound you, don't stand grinning. Where is he?”

      “In the black hole, sir!”

      “What d'ye mean by the black hole? The dust hole?”

      “No, sir, I mean the dark cells.”

      “Then why don't you say the dark cells? Has he been there long?”

      Mr. Lepel answered the question. “Ever since three o'clock, and it is nearly nine; and we are both of us to drink tea with Mr. Jones.”

      Mr. Hawes showed no hurry. “What did he want to go in them for?”

      “I have no idea, unless it was to see what it is like.”

      “Well, but I like that!” said Hawes. “That is entering into the system. Let us see how he comes on.”

      Mr. Hawes, Mr. Lepel and Hodges went to the dark cells; on their way they were joined by Evans.

      The governor took out his own keys, and Evans having indicated the cell, for there were three, he unlocked it and threw the door wide open. They all looked in, but there was nothing to be seen.

      “I hope nothing is the matter,” said Mr. Lepel, in considerable agitation, and he groped his way into the cave. As he put out his hand it was taken almost violently by the self-immured, who cried:

      “Oh, Lepel!” and