The miserable man paced up and down the streets--so long, so wearisome,
so like each other--and often cast a wistful look towards the east,
hoping to see the first faint streaks of day. But obdurate night had
yet possession of the sky, and his disturbed and restless walk found no
relief.
One house in a back street was bright with the cheerful glare of lights;
there was the sound of music in it too, and the tread of dancers,
and there were cheerful voices, and many a burst of laughter. To this
place--to be near something that was awake and glad--he returned again
and again; and more than one of those who left it when the merriment
was at its height, felt it a check upon their mirthful mood to see him
flitting to and fro like an uneasy ghost. At last the guests departed,
one and all; and then the house was close shut up, and became as dull
and silent as the rest.
His wanderings brought him at one time to the city jail. Instead of
hastening from it as a place of ill omen, and one he had cause to shun,
he sat down on some steps hard by, and resting his chin upon his hand,
gazed upon its rough and frowning walls as though even they became a
refuge in his jaded eyes.
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