The Man Who Was Two by Fred M. White

Mallison woke up one morning early in May with his usual feeling of despair, and the dreariness of life, to find a slanting ray of sunshine penetrating into his cell, and the consciousness that the melancholy fogs had cleared away. He could hear the larks singing overhead, and catch the note of a blackbird somewhere in the distance, so that even he was uplifted and strangely moved by the beauty of the morning. There was, of course, the dreary routine of cell-cleaning, followed by breakfast, after which the various gangs were gathered together, presumedly with a view to the weary monotony of the quarries. But presently Baillie sidled along beside Mallison and whispered in his ear.

"It's all right," he said. "No quarry today; we are going to start work on the new cliff road, and what's more, we are going to stick to it until it is finished."