He was a man then more sinned against than sinning,--led by worse advisers to perpetrate deeds which, left to himself, he would never even have thought of. Since the Earl's visit to him, and the discovery of his real position, his mind had grown darker and darker; so miserable did he become that death would have been a friend! It had been better he had never known it. One thing alone shed a ray, not of hope, but comfort in his night of sorrow: this was the thought he should ere long see her for whom he still entertained the liveliest affection. Strange it should have been so!--she whose broken plight had brought him to his present low estate, was yet dearer than all else; she was the only being he yet desired to live for. He felt he must have forfeited her love, her regard,--but not her pity. To hear her say, "I forgive;" to press the hand he had once pressed, when sincere and faithful; to hear the voice he loved and had heard in better hours; this would be the last joy he should rejoice in; and then, having bid farewell to her, having feasted his eyes once more, welcome darkness, welcome death! He was roused from such thoughts by the re-entrance of his keeper; this was unusual, and he began to wonder what it might mean. It was the Earl's gratuity to his guard which occasioned the surprise; in his eyes his prisoner was now a very different person; one who enjoyed the protection of the great English lord was very different from the friendless captive; and anxious to make reparation for the past, the Italian soldier, Giacomo, was bearer of a good repast, whilst two other men brought a mattress, on which the outlaw might lie more comfortably, as well as a sheepskin to cover him. "Is there anything else Signore would like?" asked the guard of his astonished prisoner. "Yes," replied Viscount de Vere. He then whispered something in the man's ear; a gesture told him he understood his meaning. The man then unbound his hands and feet, left a lantern and his supper, saying he would bring what he asked for early next day, and consigned him once more to solitude and his dark thoughts. When the doors were barred the unhappy man rose, stretched his limbs, ate a few morsels of bread, drank a deep draught of spirits, and then began to pace his cell, backwards and forwards, as long as the light befriended him. Ere long the lamp began to flicker, the wick was burned to the socket, and it lit up, and darkened the prison with spasmodic convulsions, till it went out and left him in total darkness. Groping his way to the miserable bed, he stretched himself on it, drew the sheepskin over him, and actually slept.