ter than before. They had
the same rations, though the new agent saw with his own eyes that they
were good and sufficient. They had the same cramped-up sleeping bunks,
only he never let a man be without proper covering, even if he punished
him afterwards if he gambled it away. They were still prisoners, hard
and fast; yet, somehow, the bondage was not so galling as it used to be.
The agent's manner was kind and friendly. He spoke cheerily to the
prisoners. He asked questions. He took notice of the desponding, and
there were many such. The sick he tenderly cared for. This was to the
ordinary rank and file. To the officers he was all this and more. Not
because he cared more for them, but because, as a rule, he could unbend
to them more than to the others without risk of lowering his position. He
frequently visited their quarters, chatted freely with them, played
billiards with them, was pleased to see the English officers mix at
proper times with them, admired heartily the beautiful handiwork of the
common men. The only man he could not abide was the one who, whether
officer or private, was a fraud or a sham.

And in this treatment of his unfortunate charge the Commandant entirely
went along with him.

War was still raging. That in the Peninsula--which so many now-a-days
know nothing about, but prefer "Tit-Bits," or the writings of sceptical
ladies, but in which the most splendid generalship and indomitable
bravery were displayed on _both_ sides as in no other country, and which
formed one of the hinges on which the fortune of Napoleon turned, the
other being the ice-bound plains of Russia--was pouring fresh prisoners
into England (20,000 in ten months is the number once mentioned in a
despatch of Wellington's), and no doubt Norman Cross had its share. But
for all who arrived there Captain Draper had a friendly look, and for
many a word of kindness.

He had not been long at his post before he became acquainted with Captain
Tournier; and his sympathy for him, quickly awakened, was all the more
increased by what he heard from Major Kelly. They both soon had more
reason than ever to be drawn to him.

There was a French agency in London, sanctioned by the English
government, through which prisoners of war had under certain restrictions
the means of communication with their friends abroad. Tournier had from
the first, as we may be sure, availed himself of this privilege. From
his mother's letters he could