Presently a voice began to sing, and he saw the shadow of a figure on the pavement.

It stopped--was silent all at once, as though the person for a moment had forgotten where he was, but soon remembered--and so, with the same clanking noise, the shadow disappeared.
He walked out into the court and paced it to and fro; startling the echoes, as he went, with the harsh jangling of his fetters.

There was a door near his, which, like his, stood ajar.
He had not taken half-a-dozen turns up and down the yard, when, standing still to observe this door, he heard the clanking sound again.

A face looked out of the grated window--he saw it very dimly, for the cell was dark and the bars were heavy--and directly afterwards, a man appeared, and came towards him.
For the sense of loneliness he had, he might have been in jail a year.
Made eager by the hope of companionship, he quickened his pace, and hastened to meet the man half way-- What was this! His son! They stood face to face, staring at each other.

He shrinking and cowed, despite himself; Barnahy struggling with his imperfect memory, and wondering where he had seen that face before.