It was a long night, but Kit slept, and dreamed too--always of being at
liberty. At last the morning dawned, and the turnkey who came to unlock
his cell, and show him where to wash, told him that there was a regular
time for visiting every day, and that if any of his friends came to see
him, he would be fetched down to the grate, and that he was lodged apart
from the mass of prisoners, because he was not supposed to be utterly
depraved and irreclaimable. Kit was thankful for this indulgence, and sat
reading the Church Catechism, until the man entered again.
"Now then," he said. "Come on!"
"Where to, sir?" asked Kit.
The man contented himself by briefly replying "Wisitors," and led Kit down
behind a grating, outside which, and beyond a railing, Kit saw with a
palpitating heart, his mother with the baby in her arms; and poor little
Jacob, who, when he saw his brother, and thrusting his arms between the
rails to hug him, found that he came no nearer, began to cry most
piteously, whereupon Kit's mother burst out sobbing and weeping afresh.
Poor Kit could not help joining them, and not a word was spoken for some
time.
"Oh, my darling Kit!" said his mother at last "That I should see my poor
boy here!"
"You don't believe that I did what they accuse me of, mother, dear?" cried
Kit, in a choking voice.
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