After laboring several hours more, he discovered, to his great joy, the bottom of the foundation.  Again he plied the spade, and, by almost superhuman exertions, he succeeded in excavating a hole under the stones, which, below the surface of the ground, were not laid in mortar.  After loosening all the small stones around a larger one, he found that he could pry it out, which, with much labor, he accomplished.  The removal of the other stones was comparatively an easy task, and a little time sufficed to clear a space up to the solid masonry.

But here a new difficulty presented itself.  The hole he had dug was already half filled with the stones he had tumbled from their positions.  His strength was not sufficient to remove them, and he was compelled to dig again, in order to prosecute his labors.

The wall removed, he commenced digging outside of the foundation wall.  Patiently he dug down to obtain sufficient room for the deposit of earth from the outside.  Slowly and laboriously he undermined the ground, till the surface above him caved in, and—­joy to his panting soul!—­the air, the pure air of heaven, rushed in through the aperture!  Hastily enlarging the cavity, and removing the earth to the inside, he ascended to the surface of the ground.  A feeling of gratitude thrilled through his frame, as he once more inhaled the free air of heaven, that he had escaped the terrible fate which a few hours before had seemed inevitable.

With faltering step,—­for now that his Herculean task was accomplished, the reality of his weakened physical condition was painfully apparent,—­he walked round the jail, to satisfy himself that no one was in the vicinity.  The sun was set, and the shades of night were gathering upon the earth.  The time was favorable for his escape.  Having satisfied himself that he was unobserved, he hastened to the garden, which was close at hand, to procure the means of invigorating his own body, and restoring to life and animation the partner of his captivity.  Fruit of various kinds—­melons, figs—­rewarded his anxious search.  Filling his handkerchief with cantelopes and figs, he hastened back to the jail, with all the speed his weary limbs would permit.  His thoughts were fixed upon his wife, whose suffering had pierced his soul more deeply than all the anxiety and doubt he had experienced on his own account.  As he tottered along, he asked himself if he should eat of the fruit he carried ere she had tasted of the banquet.  He drew one of the rosy-cheeked, juicy figs from the handkerchief.  It was no loss of time—­no deferring of the succor she needed—­to eat as he walked; run he could not, though he fain would have quickened his tardy pace.  It would restore his strength, and enable him the better to protect and rescue her.  It was not wrong, though, from the deep well of his affection, came up something like a reproach for his selfishness.  He ate the fruit.  The effect was, or seemed to be, magical.  He thought he could feel it imparting strength to his exhausted form.  Again he ate, and in the pleasant sensation to his unsated palate, his imagination, as much as the fruit, nerved his muscles, and he walked with a firmer step.