A year passed, during which John Loveday exhausted the resources of civilization, (1)in seeking Margaret, and (2)in investigating the innocence of Richard.

He had, however, a sprightly, adventurous nerve in the mind, and would pull his velvet sleeves busily up—such was his little way. He began to plot.

About the same time the ex-priest, in that far-off world of Colmoor, said one day to Hogarth: " You won't be here long!"

"You jest," Hogarth answered; "if I had the chance of escape, I should never take it. I am here by due legal process".

"Tut, if I say that you will escape, it is not because I am a prophet, but a man of the world, and know what happens in it".

Converse with this deep, world-wise, and fluent man had now become to Hogarth like manna, or rather a vice, like opium: for in those grey eyes of the cleric was hinted anon the baleful glint of the cobra's.

That day, a Saturday, outdoor gangs were recalled early, to "clean up" for Sunday, and out across the heath rang the great bell, Colmoor being famous for its bell, its tone and great size, larger than even the eight-ton "Mighty Tom" of Christ Church, for though its thickness was only six inches, it weighed, bell and clapper, ten tons, and was seven feet high and seven in diameter.

A busy Saturday afternoon ensued, and whatsoever Hogarth's hand found to do he did it with his might, though his face now seemed all eyes—brown, bloodshot, imperially large, morbidly staring.

He was giving the finishing touches of order to his wooden spoon and salt-cellar, his tin knife, plate, and pint cup for gruel, when a Warder Jennings peeped in with, "No. 76—you are to follow the assistant warder at once", and Hogarth descended to an ante-room where an official handed him a letter, which had been read and initialed by governor and chaplain.

An event!—a letter in Colmoor, like a shark's fin on the voyages of old sailing ships.

It was from Loveday, and concluded with a reference to Hogarth's "poor old grandmother".

So Hogarth, who had no "grandmother", propped his forehead to ponder that thing; and presently said: "Oh, it is a cypher".

And by noting little peculiarities in the shapes of the letters, a double cross to a t, a q like a g, etc., he soon had "flemecops- leftquary"—which he took to mean: "flee to me in the copse to the left of the quarry".

He smiled with tenderness at the dear heart planning and daring so very much for him. But in his smile was a touch of disdain also, he not intending to "flee". H/QFMpAt5o74kk0w63a8gAxOX1FLvFTkPvTpLxRgqgDHho04lRa6RowFJSp2HZ8U