e
straggling roofs and fences of the dreary little town, while from the
other a long reach of watery prairie, almost a lake, lay under view
with the rolling, muddy Wabash gleaming beyond. There seemed to be no
activity of garrison or townspeople. Few sounds broke the silence of
which the cheerless prison room seemed to be the center.

Alice felt all her courage and cheerfulness leaving her. She was alone
in the midst of enemies. No father or mother, no friend--a young girl
at the mercy of soldiers, who could not be expected to regard her with
any sympathy beyond that which is accompanied with repulsive leers and
hints. Day after day her loneliness and helplessness became more
agonizing. Farnsworth, it is true, did all he could to relieve the
strain of her situation; but Hamilton had an eye upon what passed and
soon interfered. He administered a bitter reprimand, under which his
subordinate writhed in speechless anger and resentment.

"Finally, Captain Farnsworth," he said in conclusion, "you will
distinctly understand that this girl is my prisoner, not yours; that I,
not you, will direct how she is to be held and treated, and that
hereafter I will suffer no interference on your part. I hope you fully
understand me, sir, and will govern yourself accordingly."

Smarting, or rather smothering, under the outrageous insult of these
remarks, Farnsworth at first determined to fling his resignation at the
Governor's feet and then do whatever desperate thing seemed most to his
mood. But a soldier's training is apt to call a halt before the worst
befalls in such a case. Moreover, in the present temptation, Farnsworth
had a special check and hindrance. He had had a conference with Father
Beret, in which the good priest had played the part of wisdom in
slippers, and of gentleness more dove-like than the dove's. A very
subtle impression, illuminated with the "hope that withers hope," had
come of that interview; and now Farnsworth felt its restraint. He
therefore saluted Hamilton formally and walked away.

Father Beret's paternal love for Alice,--we cannot characterize it more
nicely than to call it paternal,--was his justification for a certain
mild sort of corruption insinuated by him into the heart of Farnsworth.
He was a crafty priest, but his craft was always used for a good end.
Unquestionably Jesuitic was his mode of circumventing the young man's
military scruples by offering him a puff of fair weather with which to
sail t