the object of my visit is over, and the remaining longer might create suspicions, I'll say God speed ye!" "Thanks, many thanks," returned the prisoner, grasping the hand of his companion. "We shall soon meet in-" "Yes, yes," interrupted Mr Fulton. "No doubt about it; but you needn't be too particular in mentioning where. I hate a multitude of words in important affairs. A silent tongue, Ned-a silent tongue gives promise of a prudent head. What ho, there! let me out." CHAPTER XIV. "Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, THERE were but a few hours between Mr Fulton's departure and the decline of the harbinger of the day, and the great, glorious giver of life, but they hung, or seemed to hang, in a heavy, sleepy, slumbering course, as if they were half resolved to back upon their axles, and retrace the course of their diurnal track. Slow, very slow, did the long streaking shadows, creeping through the barred and grated aperture of the prisoner's cell, give way to the increasing darkness, till at length all became blended in one thick, sombre shade and hue. And then, when even the waning light told that the time was come for the gaoler's last visit to the cell, he, too, was later on his errand than his wont. Such is ever the effect of the tardy movements of those whose very sluggishness adds to the livid flame of our impatience. "May I grow old quicker than a feather's scorched in hell!" exclaimed he, snapping his teeth together with rage, "but this is more than I can bear as I ought and promised. The very daylight has been creeping into darkness with the crawl of a snail, and now that grinning mask of a trapped fox, my gaoler, seems inclined to play the laggard. I could beat his brains out with my fetters." Ned's rage generally increased with the speed that a skyrocket reaches its altitude, and, unlike that sparkling composition of smutty charcoal and foul saltpetre, there were no limits to its apex. Well was it that just at this time the heavy tread of the gaoler was heard tramping along the corridor, and at every stride the gingling of his bunch of antique-fashioned keys, clinked together and heralded, in a discordant key, his now welcome approach. With a more sturdy thrust than usual he threw back the bolts in their fastenings, and kicked the door of the cell open with so sudden and abrupt an action that it squeaked loudly upon its hinges, as if in agony at the rude, blunt in-comer's untimely violence. "Well!" ejaculated the keeper-and as the truth must be chronicled here, it should be mentioned at this particular stage of the narrative, that a certain fringe of scarlet round the lids of his eyes, and an unnatural fire glistening in them, making them blink and wink in a strangely fashioned style, created an impression that he had been indulging lately in potations deep as they were vigorous in producing palpable effects. "Well!" repeated he, standing in the doorway, bearing in one hand a stone jug filled with a quart of good pure water, and in the other a loaf of dark-brown wheaten bread. "Here's your supper, my singing crow, my merry jackdaw, my croaking raven. Have ye an appetite for digestion ?" "Put down the food," replied Ned, surlily, not even raising his eyes to look at his visitor. "Food!" repeated the gaoler, bestowing a sideway glance upon the load in each of his hands, with a disdainful twist of his nether lip. "You call this food ?-I don't." "It's the only kind you bring me," rejoined the prisoner. cell. "I won't deny that," returned the gaoler, advancing with a staggering effort into the "I won't deny that," repeated he. "But then, d'ye see, it's the county allowance." "Then leave it, and leave me," said Ned. "I am satisfied." "Are ye?" returned he. "Then what |