"The colonel hates all Yankees, and so do the rest of us," he said, in surly fashion; "but he doesn't want to starve any of you to death, though I guess you starved enough of us to death in Camp Chase." "Camp Chase? what the deuce was that?" I asked. "One of your war prisons," he replied. "Try that coffee; you'll find it good, and you'll find the venison and the beef to be good too." I had no doubt that I would. I put the question immediately to proof, which, I may add, was satisfactory. Encouraged by his friendly comment upon the food, in which he seemed to take a certain pride, perhaps having cooked it himself, I spoke to him in friendly fashion, expecting a reply of like tenor. But he seemed to have repented of his sudden courtesy, and made no reply. He had placed the tray upon the table, and without further word or action left the room. I heard him locking my door with as much care as if he had been Colonel Hetherill himself. I began now to feel that I was in truth and reality a prisoner, a fact which I contemplated before only in a humorous or make-believe way. Nevertheless it did not interfere with my appetite. I realized that prisoners may become as hungry as free men, and, as I could truthfully say I knew not where the next meal would come from, I made satisfactory disposition of this. Refreshed and strengthened, I put the emptied tray on the floor, and drew my stool to the window, where I took a seat, hoping that the lady of the castle, for so in my fancy I had named her, would appear again. But the lady did not condescend, nor did any other human being. Perhaps they did not know that I was waiting. Instead, I saw the coming of the night. Since that night I have felt pity for every prisoner in his cell who watches the approach of darkness. There is so much friendliness, so much good cheer and encouragement about the sun that even the felon must look to him, through bars though it be, as a friend. Even I, who was conscious of no crime and had just eaten a good warm supper, the best of all tonics, felt my spirits decline with the day. My window looked to the southwest, right into the eye of the setting sun. It was a very big sun and a very red sun, turning all the mountains into red, its blazing scarlet dyes rubbing out the more modest yellows and browns, and even touching the withered grass with flame. The red lances of light fell across the river, and the water foaming around the mound seemed to break in bubbles of fire.