He only desired to be released as soon as possible in order to repair the damage done to his coat and collar before the earliest hour at which the messengers of good news could be expected at his house.

Meanwhile he cared little whether he spent the night on a bench in the police-station, or on one of the rickety wooden chairs which afforded the only sitting accommodation in his own room.

He could not sleep in either case, for his brain was too wide awake with the anticipations of the morrow, and with the endless plans for future happiness which suggested themselves.
At last he was aware that the nature of the light in the room was changing and that the white ground glass of the lantern was illuminated otherwise than by the little flame within.

The high window, as he looked up, was like a grey figure cut out of dark paper, and the dawn was stealing in at last.
"Wednesday at last!" he exclaimed softly to himself.

"Wednesday at last!" A gentle smile spread over his tired face, and made it seem less haggard and drawn than it really was.
The day broke, and somewhere not far from the window, the birds all began to sing at once, filling the room with a continuous strain of sound, loud, clear and jubilant.