s malice.
The excitement attending his arrest had passed away, and the reality of his
utter helplessness came full upon him. For himself he dreaded little, for
no punishment for a supposed crime, however disgraceful, could make him
guilty; but a prolonged imprisonment would leave Daisy and Mrs. Snarle
without means of support. This caused him more anxiety than the thought of
any suffering attendant on his conviction.

More than this troubled him. It was Daisy's devotion. He had, indeed,
wished her to believe him innocent, but his generous mind revolted at
holding her to promises made in happier moments. He could not make Daisy
his wife while a blemish remained on his honor; and the circumstances
relative to the forged check, with which the reader is conversant, he could
not think of revealing, for Snarle's dying words haunted him strangely.

While Mortimer was thus meditating, two hands grasped the iron bars of the
window, which was directly opposite the bed, and a moment afterwards a
man's head threw a shadow into the cell.

Mortimer, absorbed in thought, had failed to notice it.

The first expression of the face was that of mere curiosity; this was
followed by a startled look, and then an intense emotion distorted the
features. The face grew deathly pale, and the eyeballs glowed into the
cell, more resembling those of a wild-cat than a human being's.

A deep groan came from the window, and the head disappeared
instantaneously.

Mortimer looked up and glanced around the narrow room suspiciously, and
then smiled to think how his fancy had cheated him.

The face was Edward Walters.

XIV.

_Where more is meant than meets the ear._

IL PENSEROSO.

XIV.

A CLOUD WITH A SILVER LINING.

_The Strange Visit--The Lawyer--Walter and Mr. Flint--The Clouds--A
Strip of Sunshine--Mortimer._

About two hours after the incident related at the close of our last
chapter, Edward Walters stepped from the door of Mrs. Snarle's house,
waving his hand kindly to Daisy, who stood on the steps, and watched him
till he turned out of Marion-street.

But we must turn back a little.

After leaving the Tombs, our friend went in search of Mortimer's residence,
actuated by an impulse which he neither attempted to control nor
understand--an impulse like that which had prompted him to visit the
prison. He was led into the little parlor by Mrs. Snarle, to whom he
represented himself