Two hundred dispirited men straggled wearily through the slough into which the spring thaws and rains had turned the Quebec road. The wagons laden with the unhappy wounded sank to their axles in the mud holes, and had to be lifted and pulled out by the men, many of their occupants begging to be laid by the roadside and left to die in peace. Then, too, they were continually in fear of being attacked by the American war ships, the road frequently running on the lake shore. Fortunately for them, the Americans had crossed the lake to attack Newark (Niagara-on-the-Lake) then the wealthiest town in Upper Canada, with its strong Fort George. After weary days the little force crossed the only bridge Kingston had left standing, and its loosened planks clattered under their feet. At the news of the fall of York, Kingston had destroyed every bridge over the several rivers near her, except one, and that could easily have been fired had the enemy landed in the neighbourhood. Vere had suffered a great deal during the retreat, but he recovered rapidly in the pleasant room given him, its windows showing a varied view of lake and river, and the harbour where the little war fleet of Lake Ontario lay, with the shipping that had escaped the enemy's sweep. As the barracks and officers' quarters were at the eastern extremity of the town, he could see much of Kingston itself, looking sedate and solid with its many stone buildings. He was half dozing in pleasant contemplation of all when Sir John burst in upon him one morning. "Did you give the note you were carrying when you were wounded to Ned Edgar?" he asked sharply. "Yes, sir. Why do you ask?" gasped Vere, his lips growing white as he remembered that in his fear he had forgotten the note, which lay in his pocket still. Sir John did not see Vere's face. He had turned to the window. "I always feared Ned would come to a bad end," he was muttering. "He is missing now, and I hope will continue so--for his father's sake. Major Edgar came in with Roke this morning." The deadly horror that had clutched Vere's heart relaxed its hold, for he did not fear sin, but punishment. Now he thought he had done no harm, for Ned was away somewhere, and might never meet these men who believed this of him. Then as Sir John left the room, he limped to the fire place, and dropped the paper on the flames. He was called that day before a court of inquiry into the loss of the "Gloucester", and gave his false evidence with no more reluctance than seemed natural in one who had been Ned's school friend. Edgar listened to him, his face calm, but his very soul scalded with the shame he believed Ned had brought upon him.