Alternately pacing the room, sitting on the platform, or listlessly looking out upon the river, Bob passed the rest of the day. He saw no ray of hope. The room was bare; it contained nothing but his rug; everything had been taken from him; he had not even a penknife with which to while away the hours, as many a prisoner had done before him, in scratching initials or diagrams upon the walls.
"I wish they'd hurry up," he said to himself restlessly.
But the long day passed, and he was not summoned to his doom. At night he was given another meal. He was standing when it was brought him, and he moved towards the open door, without any hope of escaping. Outside, by the dim light of the lamp carried by the man inside, he saw another soldier armed with a rifle. The way was effectually guarded. He spoke to the man, asking when his execution was to take place. The man shook his head, evidently understanding not a word. The door was shut, bolted, and padlocked, and he was again left alone with his thoughts.
Next morning the soldier who brought him his food was accompanied by the officer who had acted as interpreter at his summary trial two nights before.
"Is my time up?" asked Bob almost eagerly.
"Not yet. The general will allow you another chance. Tell me what you know of the Japanese spies in Yongampo and of the Japanese with whom you landed, and the general will spare your life and keep you as a prisoner of war until peace is signed in Tokio."
Bob looked at the officer in silence.
"Come, why be obstinate? It isn't much to ask of you, and if you're an Englishman and a non-combatant the Japanese are nothing to you."
"You think I'll adopt that plea?" said Bob, with a touch of scorn. "No thank you. You've treated me as a combatant; very well, I've told you all I mean to tell you."
"You'll think better of it by and by. You've a day to think it over."