A week later a governor and a chaplain together entered Hogarth's cellwith news of his reprieve.
Eight months later he was being trundled in "Black Maria" to PaddingtonStation amid a Babel of escaped tongues, when, sitting in hispigeonhole, he heard the unknown voice before him cry: "Well, Jim, we'reaway to the mountain's brow!"
Jim, nothing but a voice, was heard: "Worse luck! I knows Colmoor, andI knows the Scrubs, and I knows Portland; and of the five I say--give meJedwood. Who's the guy in front o' you?"
"Hi, you in front there, who _are_ yer?" cried the first, pounding.
He was answered by a deep voice, which said:
"I AM WHO I AM".
"All right, keep yer 'air on, if you've any left! It's the Lawd ChiefJustice, mate! 'E says 'e's 'oo 'e are!"
"'Old on! _I_ knows who it is: it's that new-comer, 33. They say he wasonce a priest--"
But now speech was swallowed up in hubbub, as the van ran battering downa rough street near the station.
Then again Hogarth was whirled into night and space, and, towardmorning, after the bumping climb of a van, was bidden to alight onmoorland, where he spied, far off, set on a hill, a mighty palace ofRomance, all grim, aloof, which was Colmoor.
The next morning while the outdoor gangs were being searched on paradebefore the exit, Hogarth saw a face which he knew; and "You, Bates", hesaid, "I thought you were in Eternity!"
But no: there stood Bates, all capped and arrowed, cropped and neat, notwearing the filthy old scarf of liberty any more.
The neighbor of Hogarth now was a stout man, with black hair, and greyeyes.
He it was who had been--a priest: and in "Black Maria" had given thatanswer: "I am who I am".