in case of the evasion of one of the detested cavaliers, would be foremost
to hunt him to the death--that Mark Maywood, who, even now, kept watch
over his father's prison, and might, if he discovered the packet which was
intended for the old man's hand, thwart for ever the only means of the
unfortunate prisoner's escape. And as this thought came across him, Gerald
counted, in an agony of mind, all the possibilities by which the packet
might meet the sentinel's eye. With beating heart he reviewed, in
imagination, every leaf which hid it, every overhanging branch which might
add to its concealment. Bitterly did he reproach himself in his heart,
that he had thrown it back to its hiding-place so hastily and carelessly
upon hearing the approach of the guard. It seemed to him that if the
packet were discovered, it would have been he who had delivered up his
father, who had betrayed the secret on which depended his father's safety.
The thought, however, that the evening was closing in, somewhat consoled
him. Eternally long seemed the time spent in this mute agony of doubt. At
length the hour sounded for the relief of the guard, and Gerald's heart
beat painfully. Now he might learn whether Maywood had made the dreaded
discovery. He placed himself as if by chance in the passage through which
the guard had to pass with the report to the governor, and gazed with
scrutinizing look into the face of the young soldier as he went by, as if
he could read an answer to his dreaded doubts in those dark eyes. Mark
Maywood's face, to which, in spite of its beauty, the closely clipped dark
hair in Roundhead fashion, contrasting with the thick mustache, gave a
harsh and hard look, was stern, frowning, and expressive of that sullen
severity which was usually put on by the enthusiasts of the day. In such a
face Gerald could read nothing to dissipate his doubts, but every thing to
strengthen them. Anxiously did he await the return of the relieved
sentinel to the guard-room. But when Mark Maywood came at last, he
interchanged but a few sentences with the older and sterner of his
comrades, said not a word to Gerald, and, taking a well worn Bible in his
hand, flung himself on a bench, and soon seemed lost in serious devotion.
Once, in truth, Gerald fancied that he raised his eye to scan him, as if
with scorn, and then indeed he first remarked that Maywood twisted between
his fingers a rose. For a moment his aversion to the young soldier as an
enemy to