his ears and dilating his
eyes.... He ran forward, tearing at the arm that was choking the
prisoner's throat, and screaming he knew not what.

And it was then that he knew for certain that this was his son.

CHAPTER VI

I

Robin drew a long breath as the door closed behind him. Then he went
forward to the table, and sat on it, swinging his feet, and looking
carefully and curiously round the room, so far as the darkness would
allow him; his eyes had had scarcely time yet to become accustomed to
the change from the brilliant sunshine outside to the gloom of the
prison. It was his first experience of prison, and, for the present, he
was more interested than subdued by it.

* * * * *

It seemed to him that a lifetime had passed since the early morning, up
in the hills, when he had attempted to escape by the bedroom, and had
been seized as he came out of the press. Of course, he had fought; it
was his right and his duty; and he had not known the utter uselessness
of it, in that guarded house. He had known nothing of what was going
forward. He had heard the entrance of the searchers below, and now and
again their footsteps.... Then he had seen the wainscoting begin to gape
before him, and had understood that his only chance was by the way he
had entered. Then, as he had caught sight of his father, he had ceased
his struggles.

He had not said one word to him. The shock was complete and unexpected.
He had seen the old man stagger back and sink on the bed. Then he had
been hurried from the room and downstairs. As the party came into the
buttery entrance, there had been a great clamour; the man on guard at
the hall doors had run forward; the doors had opened suddenly and
Marjorie had come out, with a surge of faces behind her. But to her,
too, he had said nothing; he had tried to smile; he was still faint and
sick from the fight upstairs. But he had been pushed out into the air,
where he saw the horses waiting, and round the corner of the house into
an out-building, and there he had had time to recover.

* * * * *

It was strange how little religion had come to his aid during that hour
of waiting; and, indeed, during the long and weary ride to Derby. He had
tried to pray; but he had had no consolation, such as he supposed must
surely come to all who suffered for Christ. It had been, instead, the
tiny things that absorbed his attention; the bundle o