"True soldiers respect each other, no matter what the colour of their uniforms. I guessed--but I want to know for certain--did you let the little lad escape the other night rather than go by yourself and leave him?" Richard nodded. Colborn took off his hat. Those who watched him from the sand and from the picket line thought he but bared his head to the cool sea breeze, but in truth it was to a brave man's self-sacrifice. A Scripture verse was running in his head: "Greater love hath no man than this, that he give his life for his friend." But he did not speak it, for a boat grating on the sand behind made him turn. "The ship's warden to receive you," he said, with a quick-drawn breath. "God help you!" Then aloud: "Attention!" The prisoners arose and lined up as the boat's crew came ashore. The warden conferred a few minutes with the corporal, went over the list of prisoners, counted them carefully, eying each one sternly as he did so; then turned again to the corporal, who, after another short conference, stepped out before the line of prisoners. "Attention! My care of you ends here. The warden of the prison-ships will henceforth have you in charge." At a signal his men fell back, and the crew from the ship's long-boat took their places; the two officers saluted, and the corporal stepped aside. "Attention! Forward! March!" the warden shouted, pointing with his sword to the boat; and the handful of dazed and miserable captives, like so many automatons, caught step and sullenly moved to the water. As Richard, who brought up the rear, passed Colborn, the latter whispered:-- "Your Joscelyn shall know," and Richard's eyes spoke his thanks. Then the boat drew away from shore, carrying its freight of helpless despair to the plague-infected hulk rocking in the tide, the plaything of the winds, the sport of every leaping wave that cast its crystal fringes to the sun. CHAPTER XII. A MESSAGE OUT OF THE NORTH. "I love thee, and I feel That in the fountain of my heart a seal Is set, to keep its waters pure and bright For thee." --SHELLEY. "It's all very well for our husbands and sons to be away fighting for their country--I'd horsewhip one of mine who sneaked at home; but for all that, this manless state of the town is a terrible test to the tidiness and the tempers of the womenfolk," said Mistress Strudwick, as she sat on her porch with some chosen cronies, and watched the young girls of the town promenading in the aftermath of the July sunset with never a cavalier among them. "Look at Lucinda Hardy, she's as cross as a patch; and yonder is Janet Cameron, who has not curled her hair for a week--just mops it up any way, since there are no men to see it." "And there's 'Liza Jones without her stays," said Mistress Clevering.