He walked out into the court and paced it to and fro; startling the
echoes, as he went, with the harsh jangling of his fetters. There was a
door near his, which, like his, stood ajar.
He had not taken half-a-dozen turns up and down the yard, when, standing
still to observe this door, he heard the clanking sound again. A face
looked out of the grated window--he saw it very dimly, for the cell was
dark and the bars were heavy--and directly afterwards, a man appeared,
and came towards him.
For the sense of loneliness he had, he might have been in jail a year.
Made eager by the hope of companionship, he quickened his pace, and
hastened to meet the man half way--
What was this! His son!
They stood face to face, staring at each other. He shrinking and cowed,
despite himself; Barnahy struggling with his imperfect memory, and
wondering where he had seen that face before. He was not uncertain long,
for suddenly he laid hands upon him, and striving to bear him to the
ground, cried:
'Ah! I know! You are the robber!'
He said nothing in reply at first, but held down his head, and struggled
with him silently. Finding the younger man too strong for him, he raised
his face, looked close into his eyes, and said,
'I am your father.
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