“Intelligent labor for every creature in the place.  No tickets-of-leave to let the hypocritical or self-deceiving ones loose upon the world.

“No, I test their repentance first with a little liberty.

“How?  Why fly them with a string before I let them fly free!

“Occupation provided outside the prison-gates; instead of ticket-of-leave let the candidate work there on parole and come into the prison at night.

“Some will break parole and run away?  All the better.  Then you know their real character.  Telegraph them.  You began by photographing them—­send their likenesses to every town—­catch them—­cell them.

“Indeed!  And pray what would these same men have done had you given them the ticket-of-leave instead?

“By the present plan your pseudo-convert commits a dozen crimes before his hypocrisy is suspected; by ours a single offense warns you and arms you against him.

“Systems avail less than is supposed.  For good or ill all depends on your men—­not your machinery.

“We have got rid of the old patch that rotted our new garment.  When I first was chaplain of a jail—­”

His mind had gone forward some years.  “Then we were mad—­thought a new system could be worked by men of the past, by jailers and turnkeys belonging to the dark and brutal age that came before ours.

“Those dark days are passed.  Now we have really a governor and warders instead of jailers and turnkeys.  The nation has discovered these are high offices, not mean ones.

“Yes, Lepel, yes!  Our officers are men picked out of all England for intelligence and humanity.  They co-operate with me.  Our jail is one of the nation’s eyes—­it is a school, thank Heaven, it is not a dungeon!—­I am in bed!”

With these last words he had come to himself, and oh, the sad contrast!  Butcherly blockheads in these high places, and himself lying sick and powerless, unable to lift a hand for the cause he loved.

The sigh that burst from him seemed to tear his very heart; but the very next moment he put his hands humbly together and said, “God’s will be done!” Yet one big tear gathered in his lion eye and spite of all trickled down his cheek while he said, “God’s will be done.”

Susan saw it, and turned quickly away and hid her face; but he called her, and though his lip quivered his voice was pretty firm.

“Dear friend, God can always find instruments.  The good work will be done, though not by me.”

So then Susan judged, by these few words, and the tear that trickled from his closed eyes, that he saw what others saw and did not look to live now.

She left the room in haste not to agitate him by the sorrow she could no longer restrain or conceal.  The patient lay quiet, languidly dozing.