There were no separate degrees of punishment in the Hall of Sorrows. The real punishment lay in its awful loneliness. The Keemarnians who were there were paying dearly for their faults. Utter loneliness—comfortless—cheerless—it was desolation personified. Those were the first impressions that Alan received. Food was let down from the air at certain intervals. There was no division, and only just sufficient to go round. It was a question of first come, first served, and the man who appeared last received little if any of his portion. No lighting was arranged in the place, and as it was near the Pole, half their time was spent in total blackness. There was no warmth; it was cold and draughty; no privacy; no comfort.
The Keemarnians who offended purged themselves clean in this dread place of sorrow. Once they were free of it, they never put themselves into the position to be sent there again. Their terms of incarceration varied. For some it might be for only six Kymos; for others sixty or even six hundred! The worst sinner there had nothing on his conscience one quarter as bad as Arrack the Miserable; but he was sent there too, to consort with them.
Alan could not bear to stay in the place. The atmosphere stifled him—the sight depressed him. His last view of Arrack, was of a lonely figure in a gown of black, sitting drearily in a corner of the big Hall, watching intently the still form of his late master. His hands were clasped, his expression hopeless—his whole attitude one of despair.
“It’s very terrible,” said Alan to the Waz as they sailed away from Fyjipo.
“Surely it must do more harm than good?” The Waz looked amazed. “I know if I were sent to such a place, I should come out hardened and defiant.”
The Jovian smiled. “That is where we differ, my Alan. The Keemarnian hates evil of every kind. This dread is born in him. He offends—ever so slightly. The Priest remonstrates with him. He makes promises to atone, but offends again. No second chance is given him. Straight to the Hall of Sorrows he is sent, there to live in discomfort, cold and solitude. He is too ashamed to mix with his fellow creatures; so his sin is purged and he comes out a better man.”
Alan laughed slightly at the Keemarnian’s earnestness. “I am afraid, my friend, that the world I came from was more material than yours. A life in such a place would have led to worse sin—it would not have cured it.”