“No, Sir Henry,” cried the young man, “I’ll give no parole. I mean to get away from here, and I warn you that as soon as I do I’ll bring brimstone and burn out this miserable wasps’ nest; so get out of the way.”
“Then I must leave you to think it over, Hilary. There,” he continued, rising, “think about it. I’ll come and see you this evening.”
“Stop, Sir Henry,” cried the young man, leaping up in turn; “this is an outrage on an officer in the navy. In the king’s name I order you to set me at liberty.”
“And in the king’s name I refuse, Master Hilary.”
“Then I shall take it,” cried Hilary, making for the door, which he reached and flung open, but only to find himself confronted by three rough, sailor-looking fellows.
“You see,” said Sir Henry smiling. “Allstone, take away that tray. Good-bye for the present, Hilary. I will see you to-night.”
He went out of the door, which was slammed to and locked, and Sir Henry Norland said to himself:
“I like the lad, and it goes against me to make him break faith; but it must be done. My cause is a greater one than his. Once on our side, he could be of immense service. He will have to be won over somehow, poor fellow. Let’s see what a day or two’s caging will do.”
Meanwhile Hilary was angrily walking up and down his prison, wroth with Sir Henry, with himself, and with fate, for placing him in such a position, to ameliorate which he climbed up to the window-sill and gazed out at the sunny meads.