Was it fancy?
No.
It was too real.
There was no mistaking it.
If the oppressive gloom of the cell started strange sounds or strange fancies in her head, why should it take such a shape as that?
Why, indeed?
"Would to Heaven they were back with the light," she said. "Will they never come?"
Just then, as though her earnest wish were heard and answered, a faint thin streak of light was shot into the cell through the grated window above.
This was reflected from a chamber in the prison whose window was close by the window of this cell, and where a lamp had just been lighted.
The welcome ray shot straight across the cell where she stood by the fireplace, and she remarked that the dripping did not cease.