y times the hot tears had stood in
her eyes as she conjured up to herself that pathetic figure, waiting and
waiting, year by year, for that liberty which was to come only with old
age. She had thought of him, sad-eyed and weary, pacing his lonely
prison cell, and ever watching through his barred window the little
segment of blue sky and sunlight which penetrated into the high-walled
court. How he must long for the scent of flowers, the fresh open air,
the rustle of leaves, and the hum of moving insects. How his heart must
ache for the sound of men's voices, the touch of their hands, some sense
of loving or friendly companionship to break the icy monotony of his
weary, stagnant existence. Her imagination had been touched, and she had
been all ready to welcome and to love him as a hero and a martyr, even
if he had appealed to her in no other way. But when she had seen him
stricken down and helpless, with that look of ineffable sadness in his
soft dark eyes, it was more than her sympathy which was aroused, more
than her imagination which was stirred. Her large pitying heart became
his absolutely. She was alone in the world, and she must needs love some
one. For good or for evil, fate had brought this strange old man to her,
and woven this tie between them.

That night she scarcely slept at all, and before daybreak she stole
softly over to the window and looked out. The roar of the great city was
hushed and silent. Below, the streets and squares were white and empty
in the gray light of the approaching dawn. The mists were rising from
the river, and the yellow light was dying out of the room. Away
eastward, there was a break in the sky, a long thin line of amber light
which widened even while she watched it. Below, the sky was red, a dull
brick red, as though the yellow fog had mingled with the fainter and
rosier coloring. Gradually the two came nearer together. In the distance
a cock crew, and a cab drove across the empty square at the end of the
street. A lamplighter came round the corner, whistling, and, one by one,
the row of gaslights beneath were extinguished. Even in that moment or
two a brighter shade had stolen into the eastern sky. That bank of dull
purple clouds was breaking away, and a few brilliant specks of cloudlets
were shot up toward St. Paul's. Then the sun showed a rim, and almost
its first pale beam quivered upon the great church dome, traveled across
a thousand slate roofs, and fell upon the girl's white