Douglas earnestly scanned the speaker’s face for a full minute. Bradford burst out laughing. With a sheepish grin, the younger man said: “I understand you now. Your words and actions are a part of your plan of treatment, eh? Well, I’ll shake off my lethargy—if I can. I’ll be a man, and strive to recover my health and strength. I _am_ ashamed of myself. Please forgive my childish petulance. Here is my hand.” The two shook hands, silently—solemnly. Then Douglas continued: “Twice you have saved my life, Bradford. I am grateful—I don’t hate you as I did. I may as well confess that I rather like you—that I feel you are my friend. I want to thank you for your unremitting and tender care. Yet I cannot understand why you keep me a prisoner. And here I give you fair warning: As soon as I’m able, I’ll again try to escape.” A smile almost beatific lighted the elder man’s marred visage, as he replied feelingly: “I _am_ your friend; and I am delighted to know you begin to realize it. Please say again that you don’t hate me.” “I don’t hate you,” Ross said quietly. “And you wouldn’t harm me, if you could?” “No—unless——” “Unless what?” “Unless you should offer injury to me or some one dear to me.” “Which I’ll never do,” Bradford answered earnestly. “Now we understand each other. You’re to try to get well; I’m to help you. You’re going to try to escape; I’m going to try to prevent you from succeeding. Have I stated the case correctly?” “Yes,” Douglas returned smilingly. “Very well. Now you’d better lie down and take a nap. You’re tired.” From that day, Ross began to improve more rapidly. His cough gradually subsided; his appetite grew better. He commenced to regain strength and flesh. But the lancinating pain was still in his chest; and it took but little exercise or excitement to exhaust him. Then, too, his mind was perturbed. The stronger he grew, the more he chafed under the yoke of captivity. He worried about Amy. He thought of her by day, and dreamed of her by night. Was she alive—was she well? Was she grieving over his supposed death, or was she wholly unaware of the misfortunes that had befallen him? “If I only knew!” he would groan in his anguish. “Did Bright Wing and Joe escape and return to Franklinton? If they did, have they told all they knew? And, thinking me dead, she may have married George Hilliard!” Then, in his excitement, he would stride up and down the room, until he was in a state of nervous collapse and compelled to seek his bed, to lie fretting and planning until sleep came to his relief. Bradford noticed that his patient was always worse after being left to himself for a short time, and shrewdly suspected the cause. He spoke to La Violette about the matter; and they decided that one or the other of them would be with Ross constantly.