“Our cause has a bitter enemy in Ta-Ling,” Phil whispered, after the lads had been sitting on their hard wooden bench for several minutes and the noise from their prison mates had subsided; “but I believe he’ll fail. When Commander Hughes commences to throw his shells into the city, he’ll be one of the first, with all his vain show of patriotism, to cry enough and seek safety.” Sydney did not reply; his thoughts were upon the coming night, when the two midshipmen were to make their dash for freedom. After a few minutes he confided his fears to his friend. “If Ta-Ling finds that we have talked with the Tartar general we’re as good as dead men,” he said in an awed whisper. This terrible thought sent a shiver through Phil. “Did you notice the look on the jailer’s face when Ta-Ling was talking to him?” he continued in an anxious voice; “it was one of cringing fear. If Ta-Ling even suspects that we had been out of our cell and questions that man he will tell all. The jailer probably is keen enough to know that Hang-Ki and Ta-Ling are enemies, and of the two he fears the latter most.” “Well, the die is cast,” Phil answered, smiling with a great effort; “there’s no use crying over it. We are either going to escape to-night or we are going to have our heads chopped off out there in the courtyard. Nothing that we can do can alter our fate, so we might just as well look cheerful, even though we don’t feel that way,” and suiting his actions to his words he began to whistle the class march. Sydney sat mournfully listening, while the Chinese criminals crowded around them, jabbering noisily. The hours dragged wearily along. As the light through the barred door became dimmer, foretelling the end of the tedious day, the midshipmen’s hopes rose; so far Ta-Ling could not have learned of their visit to his enemy. The midshipmen were taken out into the courtyard as usual for their evening meal and after the meagre fare had been eaten with great effort by the anxious and impatient lads, the jailer removed their irons and washed carefully the aching sore on Sydney’s wrist. Phil was delighted to see that the man had recovered from his fear of a few hours ago, and that he lingered a much longer time than seemed necessary, for Sydney’s wrist had been securely bound with Phil’s handkerchief and appeared to be healing, auguring well for the success of the coming night. It was quite dark when the jailer had finished his solicitous attentions, and replaced the irons on their feet and hands. Motioning the midshipmen to follow him, he led them along the stone flagging of the courtyard, cautioning silence by raising his hand and shaking his head jerkily. Loaded down as they were with heavy chains, to move quietly was not an easy task, and was one calculated to fatigue the lads to an alarming extent after their two days of cruel torture in these steel bonds.