Stark, indeed, had lost interest in everything but his own affairs now. He might have left the prison at any moment by the expedient of a bribe to the guard; but, as before, the interests of the great plot had kept him, so now the welfare of the mass of prisoners held him still among them. There was little he could do, for he represented patience, which was an unpopular virtue after peace had been declared; but he saw the futility of this behaviour, and tried as far as possible to make his fellows reasonable. A few begged him to remain to the end, and, knowing from letters pretty regularly received through Putt, that all was well with Grace, he waited on. His future line of action was difficult, but he had determined upon it. Grace gave him to understand that Norcot troubled her no more, and that her father, stricken by a terrible grief, was changed and took a gentler view of life's many-sided problems. Therefore, he proposed to return to Fox Tor Farm and attempt a reconciliation between himself and the Malherbs. Great personal circumstances armed him with strong arguments from a worldly point of view, for his uncle in Vermont was dead, and he now stood heir to a notable fortune. "I wish to God 'twas the living man that roasted there!" cried Burnham, pointing to the bonfire. "Of all devilish things in this war, our treatment after peace is declared has been the most devilish. 'Tis two weeks since we should have been set free, yet here we still are." "But they are active. Three ships have set sail from London for Plymouth." "D'you believe that yarn? Ask the soldiers and they'll tell you the ships are held in the Downs by contrary winds; then they turn aside and wink at each other." "You take the conduct of these hirelings too seriously. It is folly to let the vulgarity of turnkeys and guards anger you, or to answer the indifference of the authorities with this buffoonery." He pointed to the bonfire. "You're a prig," said the other. "You can't help it, but an infernal prig are you, Cecil Stark; and now every word you speak shows that you've changed sides and are only an American in name." "Bad company has demoralised a good fellow," answered the other. "You want the discipline of a ship-of-war and a whiff of salt air to make you your own man again, Burnham. You pretend it is a fine thing to lead these ignorant, silly fellows; but in your heart you are ashamed, and that makes you break with an old friend. 'Tis the same with Captain Short. He's been weak in the past, and the weakest thing about him is that now he's looking for gratitude for his former good nature. Gratitude's the rare virtue of individuals--never of a mob." "You prose and prose and blink at facts, like an owl blinks at daylight. Why don't you escape and get out of it?" "Because I reckon I'm more use here."