friends for a considerable time.

Poor Miles was too much distressed at this sudden and unexpected
separation to take much note of the things around him. He was brought
back to a somewhat anxious consideration of his own affairs by being
halted at the gate of a building which was more imposing, both in size
and appearance, than the houses around it. Entering at the bidding of
his conductors, he found himself in an open court, and heard the heavy
door closed and bolted behind him.

Thereafter he was conducted to a small chamber, which, although
extremely simple, and almost devoid of furniture, was both cleaner and
lighter than that in which he and his comrades had been at first
immured. He observed, however, with a feeling of despondency, that it
was lighted only by small square holes in the roof, and that the door
was very substantial!

Here his conductor left him without saying a word and bolted the door.
As he listened to the retreating steps of his jailer echoing on the
marble pavement of the court, a feeling of profound dejection fell upon
our hero's spirit, and he experienced an almost irresistible tendency to
give way to unmanly tears. Shame, however, came to his aid and enabled
him to restrain them.

In one corner of the little room there was a piece of thick matting.
Sitting down on it with his back against the wall, the poor youth laid
his face in his hands and began to think and to pray. But the prayer
was not audible; and who can describe the wide range of thought--the
grief, the anxiety for comrades as well as for himself, the remorse, the
intense longing to recall the past, the wish that he might awake and
find that it was only a wild dream, and, above all, the bitter--almost
vengeful--self-condemnation!

He was aroused from this condition by the entrance of a slave bearing a
round wooden tray, on which were a bowl of food and a jug of water.

Placing these before him, the slave retired without speaking, though he
bestowed a glance of curiosity on the "white infidel dog," before
closing the door.

Appetite had ever been a staunch friend to Miles Milton. It did not
fail him now. Soldier-life has usually the effect of making its
devotees acutely careful to take advantage of all opportunities! He set
to work on the bowlful of food with a will, and was not solicitous to
ascertain what it consisted of until it was safely washed down with a
draught from the jug. Being then too late to enter on a