the rule at Canterstone, when the prisoners withdrew to their plank couches, for the day-warders to withdraw from the actual precincts of the jail; they occupied a row of cottages on the other side of the wall. The night-warders came on duty. In list slippers they promenaded, with more or less frequency, the wards, in the silent watches of the night.
At the absolutely sepulchral hour of two a.m., on the occasion which has been referred to, a figure might have been observed stealing along the path which ran outside one of the wards in the direction of the governor's house. The figure was not that of an escaped felon—not at all. The figure was the figure of a warder. He appeared to be in considerable haste, for he had not stayed to remove the list slippers from his feet, and he moved along as fast as he possibly could—he was great in girth—with his lantern in his hand. The governor's house was in the very centre of the prison. When this warder reached it he rang the bell; and he not only rang it, but he gave it a mighty tug. The bell, like a surgeon's, was a night bell. It was hung in the apartment which was occupied, not only by Mr. Paley, but by Mrs. Paley too. So that when the bell was tugged like that the lady could scarcely fail to hear it, if the gentleman deemed it wiser to sleep on. Warder Slater—for the warder was Warder Slater—had no necessity to give a second tug. In a remarkably short space of time a window was opened overhead and a head came out The head was the governor's.
"Who's there?"
"Warder Slater, sir."
"What's the matter?"
