[CHAPTER XLII.]
Day dawned at length into the dark and lonely prison of the Earl of Beverley--the bright warm day, clear and beautiful, and rosy with the hue of the rising sun. A long ray of light streamed through the high window and painted the opposite wall; then slowly descending, as the orb rose higher in the heaven, rested on the graceful figure and the rich curling hair of the captive, as he still sat at the table, but fast asleep with his head now bent down on his folded arms. The quiet sunshine did not wake him, for he had watched, with anxious thoughts for his only companions, through the greater part of the night; and not till about an hour before morning had slumber fallen upon him. But he was not destined long to know repose; for shortly after dawn a voice was heard in the room, saying, "Is there any one below?"
The sound but not the sense caught his ear; and starting up he gazed round the room. All was vacant, however, and he thought he had been dreaming, when suddenly the question was repeated--
"Is there any one below?"
It seemed to come from the chimney; and approaching, he replied aloud--
"Yes! Who speaks?"
"Who are you? what is your name?" demanded the voice; but, though the tones seemed not unfamiliar to Lord Beverley's ear, he could not of course venture to give his real name to a person he did not see; and he replied--
"That is nothing to any one. Who is he that talks to me?"
"My name is Ashburnham," replied the person, who seemed speaking from some room above; "a prisoner like yourself, if you be one."
"I am, indeed, Ashburnham," answered the earl. "I will not utter my name, lest there should be other ears listening; but I am he whom you joined going to France, and who was taken with you."