"And a good deal better than being so cantankerous as some chaps we have here; they only get harder treatment."
The prisoner agreed with him completely, and with some other careless remark, the jailer left the cell.
When the door closed, and he heard the heavy bolts clang into their sockets, the prisoner muttered:
"If I have to throttle you to-night, you won't think so well of my good-nature."
He laughed again, as if there had been something amusing in the thought, and finished his meal with as much dispatch as if some important business awaited its completion.
But when all was done, he had only to resume his silent watch, varying it by pacing up and down the narrow cell, and performing a variety of gymnastic feats, which seemed an unnecessary waste of muscle and strength.
So the afternoon wore by. The sunset came in; its faint gold streamed across the floor, and attracted the prisoner's eye. He rose, stretching out his hands as if to grasp it.
"This looks like freedom," he muttered. "It's a warning."
The superstition appeared to gratify him, and he remained in the same position until the brightness faded, and the gray shadows of twilight began to fill the room.