The sound of heavy feet drew nearer. Wilfred called again, while the two in the room confronted each other, the man erect, and the woman, too. A strange pain was in her heart. At least here was a man, but before she could say a word in answer to his impassioned defence, the room filled with soldiers. “There’s your man, Sergeant,” said Wilfred; “I hand him over to you.” “You are my prisoner,” said the Sergeant. His command was reinforced by a number of others, including Corporal Matson and his squad, and some of the men of the Provost Guard, who had been chasing Thorne through the streets. At this juncture, Arrelsford, panting and breathless, also joined the company in the drawing-room. He came in rapidly, thrusting aside those in his way. “Where is he?” he cried. “Ah!” he exclaimed triumphantly, as his eye fell upon Thorne, standing quietly, surrounded by the soldiers. “We’ve got him, have we?” “Young Mr. Varney, here, took him, sir,” said the Sergeant. “So,” returned Arrelsford to his prisoner, “run down at last. Now, you will find out what it costs to play your little game with our Government Telegraph lines.” But Thorne did not turn his head, although Arrelsford spoke almost in his ear. He looked straight at Edith Varney, and she returned his glance. “Don’t waste any time, Sergeant,” said Arrelsford furiously. “Take him down the street and shoot him full of lead. Out with him.” “Very well, sir,” said the Sergeant. But Wilfred interposed. He came forward, Thorne’s revolver still in his hand. “No,” he said decisively; “whatever he is, whatever he has done, he has the right to a trial.” “The head of the Secret Service Department said to me if I found him, to shoot him at sight,” snarled Arrelsford. “I don’t care what General Tarleton said. I captured this man; he’s in this house, and he is not going out unless he is treated fairly.” The Sergeant looked uncertainly from Wilfred to Arrelsford. Mrs. Varney, who had entered with the rest of them, and who now stood by her daughter’s side, looked her approval at her son. The mettle of his distinguished father was surely in his veins. “Well done,” said the woman softly, but not so softly that those about her did not hear; “your father would have spoken so.” Arrelsford came to a sudden decision. “Well, let him have a trial. We’ll give him a drumhead court-martial, but it will be the quickest ever held on earth. Stack your muskets here, and organise a court,” he said. “Fall in here,” cried the Sergeant, at which the men quickly took their places. “Attention! Stack arms! Two of you take the prisoner. Where shall we find a vacant room, ma’am?” “Across the hall,” said Mrs. Varney; “where the ladies were sewing this evening.” “Very good,” said the Sergeant. “Left face! Forward, march!” Arrelsford and Wilfred followed the soldiers. “I am the chief witness,” said the former. “I will see that he gets fair play,” remarked the latter, as they marched out.