Even when the violence of these emotions had in some degree
subsided, and he was beginning to grow more calm, there came into
his mind a new thought, the anguish of which was scarcely less.
The child--the bright star of the simple fellow's life--she, who
always came back upon him like a beautiful dream--who had made
the poorest part of his existence, the happiest and best--who had
ever been so gentle, and considerate, and good--if she were ever
to hear of this, what would she think! As this idea occurred to
him, the walls of the prison seemed to melt away, and the old place
to reveal itself in their stead, as it was wont to be on winter
nights--the fireside, the little supper table, the old man's hat,
and coat, and stick--the half-opened door, leading to her little
room--they were all there. And Nell herself was there, and he--
both laughing heartily as they had often done--and when he had got
as far as this, Kit could go no farther, but flung himself upon his
poor bedstead and wept.
It was a long night, which seemed as though it would have no end;
but he slept too, and dreamed--always of being at liberty, and
roving about, now with one person and now with another, but ever
with a vague dread of being recalled to prison; not that prison,
but one which was in itself a dim idea--not of a place, but of a
care and sorrow: of something oppressive and always present, and
yet impossible to define.
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