PART II.
"He is a rich man, but he is a cold man; he is cold as marble. He never smiles. He does nothing but sit in his library, they say and look out upon the sky. His son is at sea, and his wife is dead; and he might as well be dead as alive, for all the good he does. He never attends public meetings, never votes, never was seen at a public dinner or at a private one; and all that he does do is to sit in his room and look at the sky."
Thus spoke one of a small circle of gossips in the sitting-room of an inn in one of the Canadian cities.
"They tell me," said another gossip, "that he is a queer man, but that he does something else beside sit in his room and look at the sky. They say he goes round among prisoners in jail, from curiosity, I suppose, and that he reads to men condemned to die for murder. His face looks as dark and as grim as if he had bagged with Burke, in his native Edinboro'."
"How do you know that he came from Edinboro' in particular?" inquired another of the group.
"Because his servant-man says he told him yesterday that he was going back to Edinboro' in a few days, and that he was going to break up here, for good; and that's news that won't grieve any body but the jail-birds."
Up and down the room, up and down another room, back and forth, now looking at the sky, through the windows, now on the floor, never stopping for a moment, restless, anxious, sorrowful, sorrowful, with tears upon his cheek, tears in old channels, worn when the night was down, dug when he was alone, all alone, poor fellow!
How white his face, how white his hands, and how his hair is getting white, too! Up and down, with ceaseless step, all alone! How perfectly all alone! He mutters to himself, he prays, and now at last he stops and looks at his watch. It seems to be the moment for some expected guest to arrive. Yes, it must be so, for he goes to the door and opens it, and looks out into the passage.
The hall-door is opened, and the expected guest approaches the
