nearly five o'clock before Steger was able to return, 
and then only for a little while. He had been arranging 
for Cowperwood's appearance on the following Thursday, 
Friday, and Monday in his several court proceedings. 
When he was gone, however, and the night fell and Cow- 
perwood had to trim his little, shabby oil-lamp and to drink 
the strong tea and eat the rough, poor bread made of 
bran and white flour, which was shoved to him through 
the small aperture in the door by the trencher trusty 
who was accompanied by the overseer to see that it was 
done properly (trenchermen shoving great carts of these 
delectable supplies about to the cells), he really felt very 
bad. The center wooden door of his cell was presently 
closed and locked by a trusty who slammed it rudely 
and said no word. Nine o'clock would be sounded 
somewhere by a great bell, he understood, when his smoky 
oil - lamp would have to be put out promptly and he 
would have to undress and go to bed. There were pun- 
ishments, no doubt, for infractions of these rules—reduced 
rations, the straight-jacket, stripes, perhaps—he scarcely 
knew what. He felt grim, disconsolate, weary. He had 
put up such a long, unsatisfactory fight. After washing 
the heavy stone cup and tin plate for holding his tea 
and bread at his hydrant, he took off the sickening 
uniform and shoes and even the drawers of the scratching 
underwear, and, going to his bed, stretched himself 
wearily. He tried to make himself comfortable between 
the blankets—for it was chill here—but it was of little use. 
" This will never do, " he said to himself. " This will 
never do. I'm not sure whether I can stand much of 
this or not." 
Still he turned his face to the wall, and after several 
hours sleep eventually came.