Walter was therefore promptly delivered to the officer and file who had been sent to escort him, and in a moment he went out with them into the night. "Were they souljers or civilians ye murthered, for sure?" asked the officer, as they marched along the street. He spoke the pleasant tongue of Ireland in a soft, far-reaching whisper. "Townsfolk," returned Wat; "all except one hulking scoundrel of a provost-marshal's man!" "More power to ye," said the Irishman, promptly. "Give me the grip of your hand--and, by my sowl, I'll give ye a chance to run for it at the next corner." But Wat declined the obliging offer of the good-hearted Irishman. "I thank you with all my heart," he said. "It is kindly meant. But I prefer to stand my trial. Things can't be worse with me than they are!" "Faith, it's you that knows, my son," said the Irishman; "but to Patrick Ryan's thinking a long hempen necktie, swung elegantly over a beam, might make things a deal worse for ye!" And in a minute more the iron gate of the military prison of Amersfort had shut-to upon Wat Gordon. CHAPTER XI THE HEARTS OF WOMEN Barra and Will Gordon returned together to the lodgings in the street of Zaandpoort. There was a sinister look of inexpressible triumph on the dark face of my Lord of Barra. When they reached home Will Gordon threw himself silently, face downward, on the oak settle; for there arose in his heart the memory of those days, not so long ago, when he and Wat had slept under one plaid among the heather on the moors of Scotland. And the tears stood in his eyes for the thing which he had seen that night. On their way back Barra had bubbled over with laughing sneers at the downfall of his immaculate and virtuous cousin, but Will Gordon had paced along sad and silent by his side. Ancient loyalty kept him without words, yet in his heart he condemned Lochinvar most bitterly, far more intensely indeed even than Barra. Maisie and Kate were sitting busily sewing at their delicate white seams when the two men entered. The little Dutch lamp had been carefully trimmed, and the whole room radiated cosiest comfort. As was her wont, Kate's place was by the window, where she sat looking at her work, keeping a somewhat cold and white face steadfastly upon the monotonous business of needle and thread. Maisie sat sad and a little reminiscent of recent tears by the lamp. Her eyes were moist, and she did not look at all in the direction of Barra and her husband, as they entered. A sense of strain in the air paralyzed conversation after the first greetings had been interchanged. These were loud and eager on the side of Barra, almost inaudible on the part of Kate and Maisie; and as for Will Gordon, he lay where he had flung himself so suddenly down upon the long oaken couch.