He raised his long right hand, and held it close to his eyes.
These marks were bruises.

A line of bruises went round the wrist.

And here over the bone was a scar.

It was healed now, but it had been a deep sore once.
_When ?_ If only he could remember! The mist in his mind cleared a little.
_Those bruises were made by chains._ A deadly faintness came over him.
* * * * * Michael knew at last that he was in prison.

The past filtered back into his feeble mind drop by drop.