These last words fell on the ear of Capt. Grandiere, who immediately answered: “Yes, and when they get him they’ll hang him, for they don’t mince matters with such scoundrels as we do! But, Force,” he added, turning to the squire, “an article in this morning’s paper, while it confirms the report about Stukely, denies that the extradition of Craven Cloud, or any other than the slaver captain, has been demanded. And that is plausible, too, for what time had they to hear of Craven Cloud, who has only passed a few weeks on board of the slaver by which he was taken prisoner?” “And who is Craven Cloud?” demanded the general. “Craven Cloud is the name our poor Roland took in his dire misery to save his own name from unmerited dishonor and to save his friends from the knowledge of his possible fate. I am glad that he is not included in this demand of your government.” “So am I, for his extradition would have involved painful delays in getting his rights.” Mr. Force then rang the bell and ordered a carriage—if one could be procured—to be at the door in twenty minutes. Then he went up to Rosemary Hedge, took her hand, and said: “Dear little, faithful heart, we are all going to get Roland out of prison. It may take us all day, for there may be lots of red tape to disentangle; but we expect to bring him back with us.” Rosemary smiled gratefully. “Did I hear you say you expected to bring my Roland back with you?” inquired Miss Sibby. “Yes, madam,” replied the squire. “Well, now, you do it, Abel Force! You better had, squire! If you don’t I’ll walk myself right up to the President! I won’t go to any of your secretaries, nor commissioners, nor any other understrappers! I’ll walk myself right up to the President of these United States, and I’ll demand of him why a brave and honorable young man who is the adopted nephew of a descendant of the great duke of England is kept in prison! If you go to any one, sez I, go to headquarters, sez I!” “What does she mean by the ‘duke of England’?” inquired the general, in a low voice. “Oh, she means a duke of England—that is, Thomas, fourth Duke of Norfolk, one of whose younger sons came over to Maryland with Leonard Calvert in 1633, and from whom Miss Bayard’s mother was really descended—a fact which she never forgets or allows any one else to forget. A long decline, you will say, but, my dear general, there are people descended from your English aristocracy who are working on our roads, or pining in our prisons, as there are also people descended from your English peasantry who are filling the highest places in our social and national life. The waves of rank rise and fall like those of the ocean!” “‘Here we go up—up—up! And here we go down—down—downy!’” murmured Wynnette, who, standing nearest the speakers, had overheard with her sharp ears the low-toned words of this conversation.