not until
the door closed behind him that he could fairly realize what had taken
place, so sudden and unexpected had been the scene in the banqueting
hall. Five minutes before he had been feasting and drinking the health
of Wallenstein, now he was a prisoner of the Imperialists. Wallenstein's
adherents had been murdered, and it was but too probable that a like
fate would befall the general himself. The alliance from which so much
had been hoped, which seemed to offer a prospect of a termination of the
long and bloody struggle, was cut short at a blow.

As to his own fate it seemed dark enough, and his captivity might last
for years, for the Imperialists' treatment of their prisoners was harsh
in the extreme. The system of exchange, which was usual then as now,
was in abeyance during the religious war in Germany. There was an almost
personal hatred between the combatants, and, as Malcolm knew, many of
his compatriots who had fallen into the hands of the Imperialists had
been treated with such harshness in prison that they had died there.
Some, indeed, were more than suspected of having been deliberately
starved to death.

However, Malcolm had gone through so many adventures that even the scene
which he had witnessed and his own captivity and uncertain fate were
insufficient to banish sleep from his eyes, and he reposed as soundly on
the heap of straw in the corner of his cell as he would have done in the
carved and gilded bed in the apartment which had been assigned to him in
the castle.

The sun was shining through the loophole of his dungeon when he awoke.
For an hour he occupied himself in polishing carefully the magnificently
inlaid armour which Wallenstein had presented him, and which, with the
exception of his helmet, he had not laid aside when he sat down to the
banquet, for it was very light and in no way hampered his movements, and
except when quartered in towns far removed from an enemy officers seldom
laid aside their arms. He still retained his sword and dagger, for his
captors, in their haste to finish the first act of the tragedy, and to
resist any rising which might take place among the soldiery, had omitted
to take them from him when they hurried him away.

On examination he found that with his dagger he could shove back the
lock of the door, but this was firmly held by bolts without. Thinking
that on some future occasion the blade might be useful to him, he pushed
the dagger well into the lock, and w