"Ay, that he does--more's the pity!" Then taking her hands again, he said vehemently: "An you come not to love him, I pray God to curse you with an ugliness so great that no other man may ever kiss or love you! For listen; as we lay in the dark that night waiting for the moment to escape, this is what he said: 'If you get away and I do not, say to Joscelyn Cheshire that even behind prison bars I am her lover; and that if death comes, her face, or the blessed memory of it, will outshine those of the angels of Paradise.' That was his message. I have faced many dangers to bring it to you. Now that you have it, I shall go back to my regiment, and if a ball finds me, well and good; Richard will know somehow and somewhere that I did not fail him." The girl dropped her head low in the starlight. "Good-by, Billy; you have filled your mission bravely. Heaven keep you safe and send you back once more to your mother and us." He put up his hand and stroked her cheek softly. "I do not wonder that he loves you, Joscelyn, you are so beautiful, and you can be so sweet--so sweet," he exclaimed, and then ran away into the dark, leaving her alone with the words of the love-message ringing in her ears. So still she stood that a big moth flying wearily by rested a moment on her shoulder; across the way her mother was bidding Aunt Clevering good night with admonitions to sleep well, and from down the street came the voices of the singers chanting of victory and the home-coming of loved ones. But above everything the girl on the dark balcony heard a deep, strong voice saying, "Even behind prison bars I am her lover." Prison bars! And suddenly she threw up her arms in the flower-sweet dusk and whispered vehemently:-- "Set him free, dear God! set him free!" CHAPTER XIII. DREAMS. "For thoughts, like waves that glide by night, Are stillest when they shine." --OLD SONG. "Rouse up, Richard! Rouse up, man! An you give way like this, you'll soon be taking the ship-fever and dying. 'Tis no use to wilfully hasten the end," said Peter Ruffin to the apathetic man beside him. But Richard sat staring over the waters, saying only in a dogged way, "'Tis no use to retard it." "Ay, but it is; something may happen--Washington may drive Clinton from New York--" "He cannot, for he hath not the force." "--Or we may escape." Richard glanced around the deck where guards, armed to their teeth, trod in ceaseless vigil, and then looked away to the shore, where a few cabins marked the station of the shore patrol who took up the watch where the ship guard left off, thus making assurance doubly sure. "With the sea and a double guard against us, the chance is not worth the counting." "A resolute man could swim ashore from here."