to
a man he had stopped in one of the prison corridors, a grave-faced man
with shrewd eyes and a tender mouth which smiled now at the other's
earnestness.

"I can only warn you, Mr. Salomon," repeated the little jailor, "that
Sir Henry is watching you as a chicken hawk watches a tender pullet.
Many a time have I lost a choice fowl through the appetite of those
accursed thieves," he added, half to himself, as his mind wandered
back to his quiet farm. Then, pulling himself back to the present: "I
know that many things go on in this prison which--which might not suit
the pleasure of his majesty over seas, but," with a shrewd chuckle, "I
cannot be every place and if a lad or two does escape--well, may the
dear God be as gracious to my one boy should he fall into the hands of
your George Washington and his rebels. But, Mr. Salomon," detaining
the quiet man in the black coat who was about to pass on, "do not take
too many risks just now. Do not allow your kind heart to lead you into
danger. For if you are discovered being--ah--too kind to some of our
prisoners, I cannot save you from Sir Henry. Promise me," laying one
of his great, red hands on the other's arm, "promise me, you will
attempt no more 'prison deliveries' until his suspicions are quieted."

Haym Salomon shook his head. "I am sorry to cause you anxiety, my
friend," he answered, kindly, "for you have been a good friend to me.
And I will try to be careful--if I can. But first there is a promise I
must redeem. When that debt is paid, I will try to behave so
discreetly that even Sir Henry Clinton will own his suspicions of me
unfounded."

"A debt to be paid!" The jailor looked puzzled. "Why, you are one of
the richest brokers in New York. If you owe any money, give me a word
to your wife and I will see that the debt is discharged and your mind
at rest."

Salomon shook his head, smilingly. "It is a debt money cannot pay," he
answered. "I have pledged my word and that has never been broken, nor
can I break it now." He passed on and the jailor looked after him, a
look of mingled respect and affection on his fat, stupid face.

A place of horror even to a well man, the old Provost meant
unspeakable tortures to a youth slowly recovering from prison fever.
Young Louis di Vernon, lying upon the dirty wooden floor, faint from
the fever and sick for home, turned longing eyes toward the grated
door which had not swung open since Jonas had entered with his
breakfast of br