"Come, be a man, sir," said the officer, rather sternly. "It is the fortune of war. A young soldier must not lose heart because he finds he is a prisoner. There, meet me at breakfast-time, and you and I will have a chat together. But listen first before you go: do not attempt any foolish, reckless pranks in the way of trying to escape. I tell you honestly, the castle will be so guarded and watched that it would be madness.--By the way, where are Lady Royland's apartments?" Roy pointed to a door. "Tell her when you see her that there is nothing to fear. But Master Pawson told me that he would place guards over her." Roy drew a deep breath but said nothing, merely contented himself with pointing out the dining-room and library to his conqueror. Then he stopped at his own door. "Your room? Very well; take my advice, and have a few hours' sleep," said the officer, opening the door, entering, and looking round by the light of the dim lamp. "Where does that big window open upon?" "The garden,--the court-yard." "And that narrow slit?" "Upon the moat." "Hah! Good-night to you." He strode out, and Roy stood where he had been left, with his head throbbing as if it would burst from the terrible thoughts that invaded it. Directly after he heard the tramp of heavy feet, a few words delivered in an imperious tone, and there was the heavy _rap, rap_ of a couple of musket butts upon the oaken floor, telling him that guards had been placed at his door. His despair now knew no bounds, for he had determined to go straight to his mother's chamber, and ask her if Master Pawson's words were true. Now all communication was cut off, for he was a prisoner. But his agony had reached its greatest height, and in a short time he grew calmer; for light came into his darkened brain, and he told himself he was glad that he had not been able to go and insult his mother by asking such a question. "It is horrible!" he said to himself; "and I must have been mad to think such a thing possible. Liar! traitor! wretch! How could I think there was the faintest truth in anything he said!" Utterly exhausted, he took off his armour and laid it and his sword-belt and empty scabbard aside. "Done with now," he said, bitterly; and he sank upon the couch to try and think whether he was to blame for not searching more for the passage leading out beyond the moat. "But I did try, and try hard," he muttered. "No; I could not foresee that the man chosen by my father would betray us. It was my duty to trust him. It was not my fault."