“I suppose so,” replied the officer, gruffly, not too good-natured over the prospect. No one asked Armstrong who he was, and the elaborate fiction he had prepared to account for himself was not called for. The troopers were worn out by their contest with the elements and the roads, and all curiosity was dead in them. There stood Carlisle in front, and that was enough. The foot soldiers struggled on, in no definite order of formation, each doing the best he could. The officers rode silent behind them. Thus they all marched into Carlisle without question, and in their company the man the army was seeking. After a slight delay and pause in the streets the new troops moved on to the castle. Armstrong found no difficulty in falling behind, being thus free of the town. He knew every turn of every street and lane in the place as well as he knew the inside of his own pocket. He resolved to ride leisurely to the bridge, cut through the guard, if it did not prove too strong, and then trust to the spur. The town was thronged with military, but no one paid the slightest attention to him. As he jogged along very nonchalantly, more contented with the prospect than a few days before he would have thought possible, Bruce awoke the echoes by neighing loudly. “Now, old man, what did you that for?” whispered William. He looked ahead and was stricken speechless for the moment by seeing Frances Wentworth on her horse, without doubt a prisoner, two troopers riding on either side of her, and a young officer in front. She had unquestionably seen him, for her brow was wrinkled with anxiety; but her eyes gazed steadily past him into the distance. As he made toward the party they flashed one look of appeal upon him, which said as plainly as words, “For Heaven’s sake, ride on and do not recognize me!”--but the young man was oblivious to everything except the fact that she was in some trouble. “Where are you going with this lady?” he demanded of the officer. “You may well ask,” said the man, in no accent of pleasure. “We have come across country to Carlisle under orders from one in authority, and now we must hale her back to Durham, where General Cromwell is stationed; and those are the orders of some one else.” “But it is all a mistake,” cried William. “That’s what I’m telling you,” said the man, with a short laugh. “This lady is the sister of Captain Wentworth of our army.” “So she says. Others say she is the woman who was with the Scotch renegade. I know nothing of it and care less. I obey orders.” “Sir,” said Frances, coldly, “I beg you not to interfere. It is a mistake that will be explained in due time, but these men must do as they are told. That much you should know.” Although her words were spoken harshly enough, her eloquent eyes were bringing him to his senses and a realization of the unwisdom and futility of his behaviour. Before he could speak again, a sharp voice behind him rang out: “Why are you loitering there? Get on with you!”