Ruth bore up very bravely in those hard times and never spoke a single word to reproach me for my hasty act. She sang pleasant songs to me on the way and would comfort me by saying that she was not tired, though I knew she must be weary enough to lie right down in the road and give up. On the third day after leaving Paris we fell in with a party of Protestants and continued our journey with them. We were thankful for their company at the time, but it would have been better had we not met them, for their flight was known to the authorities and was the ultimate cause of my separation from little Ruth. These fugitives had already made arrangements with a ship owner at La Rochelle to transport them to England. We had at last come to a little stream almost within sight of the town and of safety when we were overtaken by four of the troopers of the Paris guard. A narrow way led down to the place where we should cross the stream. We thought that the advantageous position of this path would enable two of us to keep back all four of the guardsmen. We cast lots to see which of us should defend the others and one of the lots fell to me. Ruth was much grieved at heart when she knew that I must stay behind and risk capture while she and the others went forward; but she said bravely, “Do your duty, Vincie boy, and the Lord will take care of us.” The guards fortunately had no guns and were armed only with short swords. We held them at bay for some time; then, making a charge together, they killed my companion and I was left alone to bar the path, with a deep wound in my shoulder which prevented my using my cloak as a guard. The rest of our party of fugitives escaped, but, on the arrival of some more soldiers, I was disarmed and taken to prison. For some reason, I never discovered what, I did not suffer the penalty I expected. Instead of being led immediately to the scaffold, I was kept close in prison among others of my faith whose only crime was an attempt to avoid the oppressive hand with which the church of Rome strove to drain the lifeblood of the Protestants. During the long months of my captivity, I pondered much upon little Ruth. Where had she gone? I thought that England was the destination of the party we had fallen in with. Sometimes I pictured my sister in America, alone in that far off land; but a little thought would convince me that she was not there. Ruth was a hopeful girl. She would never bring herself to think—unless she heard of my actual death—that I should not come to her eventually. In that case, where would I be so likely to look as in England? No, Ruth would not go to the colonies. As I thought about her whereabouts I became more and more sure, and at last I was certain, in my own mind at least, that she had taken refuge in England.