At mid-day he was ordered to go down into the yard. That was the hour when the subterranean prisoners retired into their dungeon, and when the better class of prisoners might take their turn of fresh air—if any air could be fresh, which had just been breathed by hundreds of men. Roy wondered languidly at being treated thus. He had expected to remain in his cell. It mattered little either way, he said to himself, as he found his way thither. All hope for the present was at an end. On reaching the yard, his first impression was of an unusual gravity, among even the gravest of the prisoners there before him. One or two of them half spoke to Roy, and stopped, thinking from his look that he already knew, that he would not be taken by surprise; and so he was allowed to pass on, unhindered. He saw the expression in their faces, and he wondered a little, indifferently. Then indifference fled, and a dazed bewilderment took possession of him. His brain swam, and he staggered to the wall, clutching it for support, staring and shuddering. His eyes had fallen on something unexpected, on—what was it? What could it mean? A row of boys, lying on the ground, peacefully asleep. Ah, so peacefully! so awfully white and still, in their brave blue uniforms; some of them spattered with blood. But they did not seem to mind. A smile was on one quiet face: and another had a look of high repose; and one or two carried a defiant frown, as if at the last moment they had known what was come to them; and another was a little grieved, but not much. And all were free. They had won their liberty, though not the liberty for which they had craved and striven, but, it might well be, a better freedom. Only, the poor mothers of those lads, away at home—what would they have thought to see their boys lying here?[1] Roy dragged himself nearer, his heart beating in heavy strokes, while his head again seemed to be bursting open. Yes, these were the boys with whom he was to have made his escape—some of them, at least. And here was little Will Peirce, with blue eyes fast shut, lying in the placidest sleep, smiling to himself, in a calm waxen whiteness. He had tried to do his duty to the last. Brave little Will! Roy caught his breath in one hard moan of bitter pain. “Come away,” a voice said; and somebody drew him, unresisting, to the further side of the yard. Roy vaguely knew that it was an elderly English officer, one of the quietest and most retiring of the prisoners, seldom heard to speak. He made Roy sit down; and as the boy hid his face, a kind hand was on his arm. “I know! You were with them, I believe. Don’t look any more. No good. It’s over for them.” A sound asked the question which Roy could not put into words.