“I should never recognize this man as the bandit who fired the shot that night—­are you really the Jones that choked and wounded me at Rosedale?” Dick advanced quite close to the wicked as he asked this.

“And who may you be, if I am permitted to ask a question?” the prisoner replied vaguely, all the time devouring the boy with his dilating eyes.

“I am Richard Perley, of Acredale, a soldier of the Union and a friend of all who suffer in its cause.”  Dick murmured the last words so low that the group of visitors did not catch them, and, adding to them an emphasis of the eye that the prisoner seemed too agitated to notice, he continued, as Jack pushed nearer; “This is certainly not the man we saw at Rosedale.  But I have seen you somewhere.  Tell me, have I not?”

“I can tell you nothing—­I—­I” As he said this Jones backed against the wall.  The guard sprang forward in alarm.  The women, of course, cried out in many keys, most of them skurrying away toward the staircase.

“Water!” Jack cried.  “Guard, have you no water handy?”

“No, sir; the canteen was broken, and there is none nearer than the guard-room.”

“Run and get some.  I will see that the prisoner does not get out.  Run!”

The aide had gallantly gone forward in the passage to reassure the ladies, and Jack, seizing the chance, for which the prisoner seemed to be prepared, whispered: 

“Here is an auger, a chisel, and a knife.  Secrete them.  Work straight out under your window.  We shall be ready for you by Wednesday night.  Don’t fail to give a signal if anything happens that prevents your cutting through.  There is only an old stone wall between you and the river.  You must take precautions against the water, if it is high enough to reach your cut.”

Jones played his part admirably.  He remained limp and stolid in the supporting arms of Jack, while Dick, hovering in the doorway, kept the prying remnant of the visitors, eager to witness the scene, at a safe distance.  When the water came Jack yielded his place to the guard and the party moved on.

“Here we have a real Yankee, a regular nutmeg,” the young aide cried, as the party came to a room not far from Jones’s.  “This youngster was one of the chief devils in the attack on Rosedale.  The judge-advocate has tried every means to coax a confession from him, but without result.  He is as gay as a bridegroom, and answers all threats with a joke.”

“Ah! the old Barney under all,” Jack said, half sadly.

“Do you know him, Mr. Sprague?”

“Like a brother.  He is from my town.”

“Ah, perhaps you can convince him that his best course is open confession?”

“No, I fear not.  He is very headstrong, and would rather have his joke on the gibbet than own himself in the wrong.”

“But, Mr. Jack, if you should talk to him, show him the wickedness of conspiring against a peaceful family, inciting a servile race to murder, I’m sure you could move him, and it would be such a comfort to have the criminals themselves expose the atrocious plot.”