As Borroughcliffe spoke, they were ascending the flight of stone steps which led to the upper apartments, where the prisoners were still supposed to be confined; and, at the same moment, the sullen, gloomy features of Dillon were seen as he advanced along the lower passage, with an expression of malicious exultation hovering above his dark brow, that denoted his secret satisfaction. As the hours passed away the period had come round when the man who had been present at the escape of Griffith and his friends was again posted to perform the duty of sentinel. As this soldier well knew the situation of his trust, he was very coolly adjusted, with his back against the wall, endeavoring to compensate himself for his disturbed slumbers during the night, when the sounds of the approaching footsteps warned him to assume the appearance of watchfulness. “How, now, fellow!” cried Borroughcliffe; “what have you to say to your charge!” “I believe the men sleep, your honor; for I have heard no noises from the rooms since I relieved the last sentinel.” “The lads are weary, and are right to catch what sleep they can in their comfortable quarters,” returned the captain. “Stand to your arms, sirrah! and throw back your shoulders; and do not move like a crab, or a train-band corporal; do you not see an officer of horse coming up? Would you disgrace your regiment?” “Ah! your honor, Heaven only knows whether I shall ever get my shoulders even again.” “Buy another plaster,” said Borroughcliffe, slipping a shilling into his hand; “observe, you know nothing but your duty.” “Which is, your honor----” “To mind me, and be silent. But here comes the sergeant with his guard: he will relieve you.” The rest of the party stopped at the other end of the gallery, to allow the few files of soldiers who were led by the orderly to pass them, when they all moved towards the prison in a body. The sentinel was relieved in due military style; when Dillon placed his hand on one of the doors, and said, with a malicious sneer: “Open here first, Mr. Sergeant; this cage holds the man we most want.” “Softly, softly, my Lord Chief Justice, and most puissant Cacique,” said the captain; “the hour has not yet come to empanel a jury of fat yeomen, and no man must interfere with my boys but myself.” “The rebuke is harsh, I must observe, Captain Borroughcliffe,” said the colonel, “but I pardon it because it is military. No, no, Kit these nice points must be left to martial usages. Be not impatient, my cousin; I doubt not the hour will come, when you shall hold the scales of justice and satisfy your loyal longings on many a traitor. Zounds! I could almost turn executioner myself in such a cause!”