THE sun was setting, and its horizontal beams threw the dark shadow of the prison-bars upon Schumacker’s woollen gown and Ethel’s crape dress, as they sat by the high-arched casement, the old man in a great Gothic chair, the young girl upon a stool at his feet. The prisoner seemed to be brooding, in his favorite melancholy attitude. His bald, wrinkled brow rested on his hand, and his face was hidden save for the long white beard which hung down his breast in sad disorder.
“Father,” said Ethel, trying by every means to rouse him, “my lord and father, I dreamed last night of a happy future. Look, dear father; raise your eyes, and see that bright, cloudless sky.”
“I can only see the sky,” the old man replied, “through my prison-bars, as I can only see your future, Ethel, through my misfortunes.”
Then his head, for an instant lifted, fell back upon his hands, and both were silent.
“Father,” rejoined the young girl, a moment later, in a timid voice, “are you thinking of Lord Ordener?”
“Ordener?” said the old man, as if striving to recall the name. “Ah, I know whom you mean! What of him?”
“Do you think that he will soon return, father? He has been gone so long!—this is the fourth day.”
The old man shook his head sadly.
“I think that when four years have passed, his return will be as close at hand as it is to-day.”
Ethel turned pale.