e Prince of Orange, who is a
man of real, strong wisdom. We count on that same prince to deliver us
from James, when the time is ripe. It is not ripe, yet. I am telling you
bitter, stern truth, Martin. Now then. Let me have your promise not to
continue in the service of this doomed princeling, your master. Eh? What
shall it be?"

"No," I said, "that's desertion."

"Not at all," he answered. "It is a custom of war. Come now. As a
prisoner of war, give me your parole."

"You said just now that I was not a prisoner of war," I answered.

"Very well, then," he said. "I am a magistrate. I commit you add
suspected person. Hart! Hart!" (Here he called in a man-servant.) "Just
see that this young sprig keeps out of mischief. Think it over, Mr.
Martin. Think it over."

In a couple of minutes I was back in my prison cells, locked in for the
night, with neither lamp nor candle. A cot had been made up for me in a
corner of the room. Supper was laid for me on the table, which had been
brought back to its place. There was nothing for it but to grope to bed
in the twilight, wondering how soon I could get away to what I still
believed to be a righteous cause in which my father wished me to fight.
I slept soundly after my day of adventure. I dreamed that I rode into
London behind the Duke, amid all the glory of victory, with the people
flinging flowers at us. But dreams go by contraries, the wise women say.

I was a full fortnight, or a little more, a prisoner in that house.
They treated me very kindly. Aurelia was like an elder sister. Old Sir
Travers used to jest at my being a rebel. But I was a prisoner, shut
in, watched, kept close. The kindness jarred upon me. It was treating
me like a child, when I was no longer a child. I had for some wild weeks
been doing things which few men have the chance of doing. Perhaps, if I
had confided all that I felt to Aurelia, she would have cleared away my
troubles, made me see that the Duke's cause was wrong, that my father
would wish his son well out of civil broils, however just, that I had
better give the promise that they asked from me. But I never confided
really fully in her. I moped a good deal, much worried in my mind. I
began to get a lot of unworthy fancies into my head, silly fancies,
which an honest talk would have scattered at once. I began to think from
their silence about the Duke's doings that his affairs were prospering,
that he was conquering, or had conquered, that I was bei