Yet on the faces of a few, notably on that of Roy Baron, might have been detected a gleam of something like hope, carefully repressed. A blue-eyed little middy was at his side, for he and Will had drawn together, as they seldom failed to do. Will’s high spirits were as helpful to Roy now, as Roy’s in the past had been to Ivor. Despite that gleam Roy was changed. He had grown taller, thinner, older, than eight months earlier; and the spirit of boyish fun seemed to have passed into almost a man’s gravity. Some weeks before this, three or four middies had managed to get away, by digging deep underground, undetected by the gendarmes, till they lighted on a subterranean passage, leading away from the fortress. Through this, one day, they had fled to the neighbouring country, making good their escape. It was known by many there that they were gone; and it was conjectured that they had not as yet been re-taken, since, had they been, the whole body of prisoners would certainly have been informed of the fact. The present scheme was different in kind. About a dozen middies, besides one young lieutenant in the Royal Navy and Roy Baron, were in the plot—all sworn to secrecy. None but active and agile young fellows could have hoped to succeed in what was proposed. They had made a stout rope out of such materials as they could contrive to get together; and with this their intention was to descend from the high outer wall, which wall would first have to be scaled from within. One or two at least would have to reach the top with no help from above, though when they were up the rope could be lowered for the others to use. On the other side of the wall would lie fresh difficulties—watchful sentries, perils of starvation, dangers of being overtaken and of worse treatment than before to follow. Those who failed to get away might expect to be despatched to the fortress of Sédan, for solitary imprisonment. But with the hope of liberty to cheer them on, not one of the number hesitated. “Two days more of this! Only two days more!” Roy was saying to himself. He hardly dared to look up, when anybody not in the secret came near, so much he feared to suggest by even a cheerful glance that hope had dawned. “I know what you’re thinking, Roy,” Will muttered, under cover of a noisy fight twenty paces off of a couple of imprisoned professional boxers. “I’m thinking that this is an awful place!” “It was a lot worse when you weren’t here. I say!”—lowering his voice—“Just listen. Don’t look as if we were saying anything particular. I say, Roy, mind we keep together. And if—you know what I mean—_if_——” Roy made a hasty comprehending gesture. “Yes—if—” he said, taking up Will’s words—“then you tell my people all about it. And if—if it’s the other way—then I tell your people. Eh?”