“Here is some broth, young fellow.  Wake up and drink that, it will do you good.”

Charlie, as before, slowly sipped down the broth, and then really fell asleep, for the jolting had fatigued him terribly.

It was evening when he awoke.  Two men were sitting at a blazing fire.  When he moved, one of them brought him another basin of broth, and fed him with a spoon.

Charlie had been long enough in the country to know, by the appearance of the room, that he was in a peasant’s hut.  He wondered why he had been brought there, and concluded that it must be because Allan Ramsay had set so stringent a search on foot in the city, that they considered it necessary to take him away.

“They will not keep me here long,” he said to himself.  “I am sure that I could walk now, and, in another two or three days, I shall be strong enough to go some distance.  That soup has done me a deal of good.  I believe half my weakness is from hunger.”

He no longer kept up the appearance of unconsciousness, and, in the morning, put various questions, to the man who spoke Swedish, as to what had happened and how he came to be there.  This man was evidently, from his dress and appearance, a Jew, while the other was as unmistakably a peasant, a rough powerfully-built man with an evil face.  The Jew gave him but little information, but told him that in a day or two, when he was strong enough to listen, a friend would come who would tell him all about it.

On the third day, he heard the sound of an approaching horse, and was not surprised when, after a conversation in a low tone outside, Ben Soloman entered.  Charlie was now much stronger, but he had carefully abstained from showing any marked improvement, speaking always in a voice a little above a whisper, and allowing the men to feed him, after making one or two pretended attempts to convey the spoon to his mouth.

“Well, Master Englishman,” Ben Soloman said, as he came up to his bedside, “what do you think of things?”

“I do not know what to think,” Charlie said feebly.  “I do not know where I am, or why I am here.  I remember that there was a fray in the street, and I suppose I was hurt.  But why was I brought here, instead of being taken to my lodgings?”

“Because you would be no use to me in your lodging, and you may be a great deal of use to me here,” Ben Soloman said.  “You know you endeavoured to entrap me into a plot against the king’s life.”

Charlie shook his head, and looked wonderingly at the speaker.

“No, no,” he said, “there was no plot against the king’s life.  I only asked if you would use your influence among your friends to turn popular feeling against Augustus.”

“Nothing of the kind,” the Jew said harshly.  “You wanted him removed by poison or the knife.  There is no mistake about that, and that is what I am going to swear, and what, if you want to save your life, you will have to swear too; and you will have to give the names of all concerned in the plot, and to swear that they were all agreed to bring about the death of the king.  Now you understand why you were brought here.  You are miles away from another house, and you may shout and scream as loud as you like.  You are in my power.”