'This is my quarters, is it?' he asked facetiously.
'This is the shop, sir,' replied his friend.
He was walking in, but not with the best possible grace, when he
suddenly stopped, and started back.
'Halloa!' said the officer. 'You're nervous.'
'Nervous!' whispered Dennis in great alarm. 'Well I may be. Shut the
door.'
'I will, when you're in,' returned the man.
'But I can't go in there,' whispered Dennis. 'I can't be shut up with
that man. Do you want me to be throttled, brother?'
The officer seemed to entertain no particular desire on the subject one
way or other, but briefly remarking that he had his orders, and intended
to obey them, pushed him in, turned the key, and retired.
Dennis stood trembling with his back against the door, and involuntarily
raising his arm to defend himself, stared at a man, the only other
tenant of the cell, who lay, stretched at his fall length, upon a stone
bench, and who paused in his deep breathing as if he were about to wake.
But he rolled over on one side, let his arm fall negligently down, drew
a long sigh, and murmuring indistinctly, fell fast asleep again.
Relieved in some degree by this, the hangman took his eyes for an
instant from the slumbering figure, and glanced round the cell in search
of some 'vantage-ground or weapon of defence.
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