The morning succeeding the arrest of Captain Sherwood dawned clear and beautiful. The bright sunbeams struggled through the narrow, grated window of Edgar’s cell, and brilliantly illuminated the apartment.
When he gazed about him, and beheld the joyful sunlight streaming athwart the floor of his prison, his feelings were too painful for description—it seemed, as it were, that every thing mocked him.
“Would that I could dispel these gloomy thoughts that possess me,” he murmured. “There is an indescribable something—a feeling of sadness I can not banish. Shake it off I can not—it clings to me despite my efforts, and I feel as though it were a precursor of some terrible affliction about to befall me.”
While these despondent thoughts occupied his mind, he remained leaning with his shoulder against the wall, and gazing with a troubled look upon the decaying fire, when Colonel Hall entered the cell.
“Ah, good-morning, colonel,” exclaimed Edgar; “I am so glad to see you; your presence makes me feel less sad.”
“Good-morning, captain; I hope you are well.”
“Yes, colonel, well in body, though not in spirit. But why do you look so sad? Are you in trouble?”
“Yes, captain, I am.”
“Then we are companions in misfortune.”