"No, mamma, you can't come. Send word to the counsel you engaged in the
search. I fancy it is some mistake; but I wish it hadn't occurred just
now. I wouldn't write Olympia about it." Olympia had gone on to Acredale
with Kate, to set the house in order for a season of festivity. Jack,
Vincent, Dick, and the rest, were to join them so soon as the invalid
had taken rest in Washington.

The guard indulged Jack in a carriage to headquarters. Here he was
handed over to a lieutenant in charge, and conducted to a prison-like
apartment in the rear.

"What is the charge against me?" Jack asked, as the officer touched a
bell.

"I am not acquainted with the papers in your case. My instructions are
to hold you until called for.--Sergeant," he added, as a soldier in
uniform entered, "the prisoner is to be confined in close quarters, and
is not to be lost sight of night or day."

The soldier saluted and motioned Jack to follow him, two other soldiers
closing in behind him as he set out. At the end of a short hallway the
sergeant stopped, took a key from a bunch at his belt, unlocked a
heavily-barred door and motioned Jack to enter. It was useless to
protest, useless to parley. He knew military procedure too well to think
of it, but his heart swelled with bitter rage. This was the reward of an
almost idolatrous patriotism--this was the _patrie's_ way of cherishing
her defenders. He flung himself on the cot in a wild passion of tears
and rebellious scorn. But his humiliation was not yet ended; while he
sat with his face covered by his bands, he felt hands upon his legs, and
the sharp click of a lock. He moved his left leg. Great God! it was
chained to an enormous iron bolt. He started to rise; the sharp links of
the chain cut his ankle as the great ball rolled away from him. With a
cry of madness he flung himself on the harsh pine pallet, groaning his
heart out in bitter anguish and maledictions. In time food was brought
him, but he sat supine, staring ghastly at the dull-eyed orderly,
silent, unquestioning. Dim banners of light fell across the corridor.
They were broken at regular intervals by the passing figure of a sentry.
The night wore on. There was a lull in the monotonous tramp. Steps came
toward Jack's cell--stopped; the key grated in the lock; some one
touched him on the shoulder. He never stirred.

"Cheer up, Sprague; it's all a mistake." It was the voice of the lawyer.

At this Jack started, his eyes gleaming wildly.