k of his cell.
By this means he kept them at a somewhat respectful distance.

And now his mind reverted again to the cause of his imprisonment. As the
long, weary hours dragged by, he studied the matter with the utmost
care, giving painstaking thought to the slightest details and the most
trivial acts. His points were, consequently, well made. They were
reasonable, logical, probable. The scheme broadened as he progressed.
What he had supposed to be a mere matter of revenge now loomed up
clearly and distinctly before him as a bold plot against himself--a
piece of outrageous villainy that fairly appalled him.

He saw Felix Mortimer in his place in the bank; saw himself looked upon
by Mr. Goldwin with suspicion and disgust. And this feeling, he knew,
would extend to his daughter--bright, winsome Ray.

It was odd that Herbert should think of her in this connection, while
in such mental agony. He had seen her but once, and then only for a
minute. True, she was wonderfully pretty, and her manner was irresistibly
attractive, but young Randolph was of a serious turn of mind. No, he was
not one to become infatuated with any girl, however charming; he never
had been, and, to use his own language, he did not propose to become so.
But he could not help thinking of Ray in connection with this matter. He
recalled how her sunny presence lighted up the bank that very afternoon,
and in imagination he saw her bright, mischievous blue eyes, brimful of
fun and merriment, as he handed her into her carriage.

"She did look sweet, confounded if she didn't," said Herbert to himself,
forgetting for the time his sorrow; "sweet and pretty as a peach, and
her cheeks had the same rich, delicate tint. Her hair---- Great Scott!"
ejaculated young Randolph, suddenly awaking to what he had been saying.
"Another evidence of my being a fool. I'd better have stayed on the
farm," he continued, more or less severely.

[Illustration: YOUNG RANDOLPH AT LAST FALLS ASLEEP EXHAUSTED.]

"Well, I'm a prisoner," he said, sadly, after a thoughtful pause. "It
doesn't matter much what I think or say. But, somehow or other, I wish I
had never seen her," he continued, meditatively. "Now she will think of
me only with contempt, just as her father will. Of course she will; it
would be only natural."

Exhausted, weary, and even overburdened with oppressive thought, he
sat down on the wooden bench in his cell. The rats still gnawed and
frolicked, and prowled at will.