Chapter 17 AT YMEGUEN

As if a thief should steal a tainted vest,

Some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest-Hood

'Tis bitterer to me than wormwood the memory of what followed, and I shall tell the story in the fewest words I may. We were cast into prison, and lay there for months in a stone cell with little light, and only foul straw to lie on. At first we were