Gerald, who had listened to this discussion with some astonishment, was not sorry to find the manner of its termination.  In the outset he had not been without alarm that the hero of one hour might be looked upon and hanged as the spy of the next; and tired as he was of life, much as he longed to lay it down, his neck had too invincible a repugnance to any thing like contact with a cord to render him ambitious of closing his existence in that way.  He was not at all sorry, therefore, when he found the surly looking Major Killdeer wholly unsupported in his sweeping estimate of what he called the “spy act.”  The gentlemanly manner of Colonel Forrester, forming as it did so decided a contrast with the unpolished—­even rude frankness of his second in command, was not without soothing influence upon his mind, and to his last observation he replied, as he really felt, that any change in his views as to his disposal could in no way effect him, since it was a matter of total indifference whether he returned to Amherstburg, or was detained where he was.  In neither case could he actively rejoin the service until duly exchanged, and this was the only object embraced in any desire he might entertain of the kind.

“Still,” added the Colonel, “although I may not suffer you to return yet into Canada, I can see no objection to according you the privilege of parole of honor, without at all involving the after question of whether you are to be considered as the soldier or the officer.  From this moment therefore, Mr. Grantham, you will consider yourself a prisoner at large within the fort—­or, should you prefer journeying into the interior, to sharing the privations and the dullness inseparable from our isolated position, you are at liberty to accompany Captain Jackson, my Aid-de-Camp, who will leave this within thirty-six hours, charged with dispatches for the Governor of Kentucky.”

Gerald had already acknowledged to himself that, if any thing could add to his wretchedness, it would he a compulsory residence in a place not only destitute itself of all excitement, but calling up, at every hour, the images of his brave companions in danger—­men whom he had known when the sun of his young hopes shone unclouded, and whom he had survived but to be made sensible of the curse of exemption from a similar fate; still, with that instinctive delicacy of a mind whose natural refinement not even a heavy weight of grief could wholly deaden, he felt some hesitation in giving expression to a wish, the compliance with which would, necessarily, separate him from one who had so courteously treated him, and whom he feared to wound by an appearance of indifference.

“I think, Mr. Grantham,” pursued Colonel Forrester, remarking his hesitation, “I can understand what is passing in your mind.  However I beg you will suffer no mere considerations of courtesy to interfere with your inclination.  I can promise you will find this place most dismally dull, especially to one who has no positive duty to perform in it.  If I may venture to recommend, therefore, you will accompany Captain Jackson.  The ride will afford you more subject for diversion than any thing we can furnish here.”