However, Malcolm had gone through so many adventures that even the scene which he had witnessed and his own captivity and uncertain fate were insufficient to banish sleep from his eyes, and he reposed as soundly on the heap of straw in the corner of his cell as he would have done in the carved and gilded bed in the apartment which had been assigned to him in the castle.

The sun was shining through the loophole of his dungeon when he awoke.  For an hour he occupied himself in polishing carefully the magnificently inlaid armour which Wallenstein had presented him, and which, with the exception of his helmet, he had not laid aside when he sat down to the banquet, for it was very light and in no way hampered his movements, and except when quartered in towns far removed from an enemy officers seldom laid aside their arms.  He still retained his sword and dagger, for his captors, in their haste to finish the first act of the tragedy, and to resist any rising which might take place among the soldiery, had omitted to take them from him when they hurried him away.

On examination he found that with his dagger he could shove back the lock of the door, but this was firmly held by bolts without.  Thinking that on some future occasion the blade might be useful to him, he pushed the dagger well into the lock, and with a sharp jerk snapped it off at the hilt.  Then he concealed the steel within his long boot and cast the hilt through the loophole.

Presently a soldier brought him his breakfast —­ a manchet of bread and a stoup of wine.  He was visited again at dinner and supper.  Before the soldier came in the first time Malcolm concealed his sword in the straw, thinking that the soldier would be sure to remove it if he noticed it.  The man who brought his breakfast and dinner was taciturn, and made no reply to his questions, but another man brought his supper, and he turned out of a more communicative disposition.

“What has happened?” he repeated in reply to Malcolm’s question.  “Well, I don’t know much about it myself, but I do know that Wallenstein is dead, for the trooper who rides next to me helped to kill him.  Everyone is content that the traitor has been punished, and as the troops have all pronounced for the emperor every thing is quiet.  We had a good laugh this afternoon.  The colonel sent out one of our men dressed up in Wallenstein’s livery to meet the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg and invite him to come on at once and join him here.  The duke suspected no danger, and rode on ahead of his troops, with a few attendants, and you should have seen his face, when, after passing through the gates, he suddenly found himself surrounded by our men and a prisoner.  Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar will be here tomorrow, as they say, and we shall catch him in the same way.  It’s a rare trap this, I can tell you.”

The news heightened Malcolm’s uneasiness.  The capture of Duke Bernhard, the most brilliant of the German generals on the Protestant side, would be a heavy blow indeed to the cause, and leaving his supper untasted Malcolm walked up and down his cell in a fever of rage at his impotence to prevent so serious a disaster.