He was a prisoner! As he paced the narrow limits of his cell, and found himself, after a few brief strides, brought abruptly to a halt, he felt as though he could tear down the stone walls with his hands, and thus sally forth. The window aforenamed, though small, admitted a free current of air; yet, whenever he thought of his situation, he felt as if he were stifling, and could not draw his breath. If he sat down, he became eager for action; if he sought relief in exercise, his humour changed; and while he had yet, in obedience to one prompture, taken but a turn or two round the chamber, his restlessness forced him to his seat again. Thus did he pass the first day of his incarceration in Newgate. Night brought him no relief; and though, as the hour advanced, he stretched his limbs on his humble pallet, he never thought of disposing himself for sleep. If he turned from the more immediate details of his situation, his extended reflections, though more varied, were not less distracting. His fair child was alone in the world. There was no one to prompt her inexperience; no one to defend her from aggression; no one, in her own sphere of life, with whom she could “take sweet counsel,” and maintain the relations of a friend. In his sympathy for his daughter, his own situation presented its most pressing hardship. He could have borne it alone: for conscience sake, he could have sustained persecution, have submitted to oppression, and have uttered no complaint. But to be torn from his darling--his dear, loving child--was more than nature could endure. The promised support of Sir Walter Raleigh did not inspire him with much expectation. It is true, he hoped, but doubtfully; and the varying humour of his reflections, rolling back into the past, and calling to mind all the grievances which the followers of the Romish persuasion were subject to, represented succour from a pillar of the Protestant church to be extremely uncertain. Sir Walter, too, was involved in the intrigues of the court; was an aspirant to royal favour; a partizan of particular interests; and, more than all, an avowed and approved enemy to the very existence of Popery. Hildebrand was gone. On him, indeed, if the past could be relied on, he might have placed dependence; but he was beyond recall. It might have been so ordered wilfully. Hildebrand, with all his seeming honesty, might be a malignant impostor, suborned to betray him to the Government; and, at this momentous juncture, possibly absented himself with a perfect foreknowledge of the evil his absence would occasion. But, no! the thought wronged him! it could not be!