As he recovered, his anxiety to be back among his prisoners increased daily, but neither Susan nor the myrmidon would hear of it. They acted in concert, and stuck at nothing to cure their patient. They assured him all was going on well in the prison. They meant well; but for all that, every lie, great or small, is the brink of a precipice the depth of which nothing but Omniscience can fathom.
He believed them, yet he was uneasy; and this uneasiness increased with his returning strength. At last one morning, happening to awake earlier than usual, he stole a march on his nurses, and taking his stick walked out and tottered into the jail.
He found Josephs dead under the fangs of Hawes, and the whole prison groaning.
Now the very day his symptoms became more favorable it so happened that he had received a few lines from the Home Office that had perhaps aided his recovery by the hopes they inspired.
“The matter of your last communication is forwarded to the 'Inspector of Prisons.' He is instructed to inquire strictly into your statements and report to this office.”
The short note concluded with an intimation that the tone in which Mr. Eden had conveyed his remonstrances was intemperate, out of place, and WITHOUT PRECEDENT.
The “Inspector of Prisons” was a salaried officer of the crown, enlightened by a large comparison of many prisons, and, residing at a distance, was not open to the corrupting influences of association and personal sympathy with the governor, as were the county magistrates.
Day after day Mr. Eden rose in hope that day would not pass without the promised visit from the “Inspector of Prisons.” Day after day no inspector. At last Mr. Eden wrote to him to inquire when he was coming.
The letter traveled about after him, and after a considerable delay came his answer. It was to this effect. That he was instructed to examine into charges made against the governor of ---- Jail; but that he had no instructions to make an irregular visit for that purpose. His progress would bring him this year to ---- Jail in six weeks' time, when he should act on his instructions, but these did not justify him in varying from the routine of his circuit.
Six weeks is not long to wait for help in a matter of life and death, thought the eighty pounders, the clerks who execute England.