“Well, sir, how did you like this sermon?” said Fry, respectfully.

“He won’t preach many more such, (imperative mood) him.  I’ll teach him to preach at people from the pulpit.”

“Well, that is what I say, sir, but you said you liked to hear him preach at folk.”

“So I do,” replied Hawes angrily, “but not at me, ye fool!”

This afternoon two of the prisoners rang their bells, and on the warder coming to them begged in much agitation to see the chaplain.  Mr. Eden was always at the prisoners’ orders and came to both of these; one was a man about thirty, the other a mere boy.  The same evening Mr. Hawes sat down, his features working wrathfully, and dispatched a note to Mr. Locock, one of the visiting justices and a particular admirer of his.

Meeting Mr. Eden in the prison, he did not return that gentleman’s salute.  This was his way of implying war; events were thickening, a storm was brewing.  This same evening there was a tap at Mr. Eden’s private door and Evans entered the room.  The man’s manner was peculiar.  He wore outside a dogged look, as if fighting against some inward feeling; he entered looking down most perniciously at the floor.  “Well, Evans?”

Evans approached, his eyes still glued upon the floor.  He shoved a printed paper roughly into Mr. Eden’s hand, and said in a tone of sulky reproach, “Saw ye fret because ye could not get it, and couldn’t bear to see ye fret.”

“Thank you, Evans, thank you!”

“You are very welcome, sir,” said Evans, with momentary deference and kindness.  Then turning suddenly at the door in great wrath, with a tendency to whimper, he roared out, “Ye’ll get me turned out of my place, that’s what ye’ll do!” and went off apparently in tremendous dudgeon.  The printed paper contained “the rules of the prison,” a copy of which Mr. Eden had asked from Hawes and been refused.  Evans had watched his opportunity, got them from another warder in return for two glasses of grog outside the jail.

Mr. Eden fell to and studied the paper carefully till bed-time.  As he read it his eye more than once flashed with satisfaction in spite of a great despondency that had now for a day or two been creeping upon him.

This depression dated from biped Carter’s crucifixion or soon after.  He struggled gallantly against it; it appeared in none of his public acts.  But when alone his heart seemed to have turned to lead.  A cold, languid hopelessness most foreign to his high, sanguine nature weighed him to the earth, and the Dead Sea rolled over his spirit.

Earnest Mr. Hawes hated good Mr. Eden; one comfort, by means of his influence with the justices he could get him turned out of the prison.  Meantime what could he do to spite him?  Begin by punishing a prisoner—­that is the only thing that stings him.  With these good intentions earnest Hawes turned out and looked about for a prisoner to punish; unfortunately for poor Josephs the governor’s eye fell upon him as he came out of the chapel.  The next minute he was put on a stiff crank, which led in due course to the pillory.  When he had been in about an hour and a half, Hawes winked to Fry, and said to him under his breath, “Let the parson know.”