The prisoner answered with a sullen nod; and being left alone again, sat
brooding over what he had heard, and pondering upon the hopes the recent
conversation had awakened; gazing abstractedly, the while he did so,
on the light without, and watching the shadows thrown by one wall on
another, and on the stone-paved ground.
It was a dull, square yard, made cold and gloomy by high walls, and
seeming to chill the very sunlight. The stone, so bare, and rough,
and obdurate, filled even him with longing thoughts of meadow-land and
trees; and with a burning wish to be at liberty. As he looked, he rose,
and leaning against the door-post, gazed up at the bright blue sky,
smiling even on that dreary home of crime. He seemed, for a moment, to
remember lying on his back in some sweet-scented place, and gazing at it
through moving branches, long ago.
His attention was suddenly attracted by a clanking sound--he knew what
it was, for he had startled himself by making the same noise in walking
to the door. Presently a voice began to sing, and he saw the shadow of
a figure on the pavement. It stopped--was silent all at once, as
though the person for a moment had forgotten where he was, but
soon remembered--and so, with the same clanking noise, the shadow
disappeared.
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