e strong appearances against
him, and believe him to be the wretch he seemed--knowing and feeling
all this, he experienced, at first, an agony of mind which no words can
describe, and walked up and down the little cell in which he was locked
up for the night, almost beside himself with grief.

Even when the violence of these emotions had in some degree subsided,
and he was beginning to grow more calm, there came into his mind a new
thought, the anguish of which was scarcely less. The child--the bright
star of the simple fellow's life--she, who always came back upon him
like a beautiful dream--who had made the poorest part of his existence,
the happiest and best--who had ever been so gentle, and considerate,
and good--if she were ever to hear of this, what would she think! As
this idea occurred to him, the walls of the prison seemed to melt away,
and the old place to reveal itself in their stead, as it was wont to be
on winter nights--the fireside, the little supper table, the old man's
hat, and coat, and stick--the half-opened door, leading to her little
room--they were all there. And Nell herself was there, and he--both
laughing heartily as they had often done--and when he had got as far as
this, Kit could go no farther, but flung himself upon his poor bedstead
and wept.

It was a long night, which seemed as though it would have no end; but
he slept too, and dreamed--always of being at liberty, and roving
about, now with one person and now with another, but ever with a vague
dread of being recalled to prison; not that prison, but one which was
in itself a dim idea--not of a place, but of a care and sorrow: of
something oppressive and always present, and yet impossible to define.
At last, the morning dawned, and there was the jail itself--cold,
black, and dreary, and very real indeed. He was left to himself,
however, and there was comfort in that. He had liberty to walk in a
small paved yard at a certain hour, and learnt from the turnkey, who
came to unlock his cell and show him where to wash, that there was a
regular time for visiting, every day, and that if any of his friends
came to see him, he would be fetched down to the grate. When he had
given him this information, and a tin porringer containing his
breakfast, the man locked him up again; and went clattering along the
stone passage, opening and shutting a great many other doors, and
raising numberless loud echoes which resounded through the building for
a