“You, shentlemen, mus’ leave mine house, shoost as soon as you can, or you vill be daken brisoners. I vill help you to get avay.” “We can’t do it,” said Locke promptly. “I can not leave my sisters alone and unprotected.” Milicent and I were trembling with fear. “Brother,” said Milicent, “you and Cousin William must leave us and save yourselves.” “Please go,” I begged. I could not keep my eyes off the door. I feared every moment to hear the rap of the sergeant come to arrest our friends. But the captain and Mr. Holliway reiterated their determination not to leave us in our present situation. If I had not been scared almost to death I could have laughed at the perfect brotherliness of Locke’s protestations. “Tere is tancher, shentlemen. I hears te talk town te street,” urged the Dutchman with every appearance of earnestness and good-will. “What did you hear?” asked Locke nonchalantly. “Oh, tey tinks you haf not tolt vat you vas. Tey tinks you be Secesh--unt I ton’t know vat tey tinks.” “I can’t help what they think,” said Locke. “I am going to protect my sisters.” “How you brotect tem ven you be brisoners, _hein_?” “I don’t know,” answered Locke, smiling, “but I certainly shall not leave them.” “Vat goot you do? I vill take care of te ladies. Nopody vill hu’t tem, unt I vill see dat tey gets off all right. Tere is no tancher for tem.” “Thank you, my friend,” said the captain simply and heartily. “But we can not accept your kind offer. We must take my sisters home ourselves.” “I ver’ sorry,” said the Dutchman sadly. As soon as the door closed behind him, we began to plead. “Captain,” said Milicent, “you and Mr. Holliway must go. We will not consent to anything else.” “We should be regular deserters to do that,” said Locke contemptuously. “I think the old fellow is exaggerating. Or maybe he is pumping us. Holliway and I will walk down the street and see.” We thought this was madness, and we were miserable from the moment they left until they were safely back. Captain Locke was, as always, at his ease, but Mr. Holliway was very pale. He knew, as Milicent and I did not, the risk we were all running, and he was more concerned perhaps for Locke’s safety than for his own. For him arrest meant prison at the worst--for Locke, a halter. “The Dutchman is right,” he said in answer to our questions. “We stopped outside several places and heard them talking about us and our arrest. We are practically prisoners.” He tried to speak cheerfully and as if it would be a sure and easy matter to find some way out of our predicament; but the truth was that he had been struggling all along against great depression of spirits; his health was bad, the incident of the first night of our journey had impressed him, and he had evidently felt himself under a cloud ever since our experience at the provost’s. “That talk doesn’t amount to much,” said Captain Locke carelessly.