It was a lugubrious subterranean apartment, lighted by a single lantern suspended from a beam. By its dim rays he discovered the figures of half a dozen fellow-prisoners; and, in the midst of the group, he recognized one, the sight of whom caused him to forget all his own misfortunes in an instant.
"My dear Mr. Villars! I have found you at last!" he exclaimed, grasping the old clergyman's hand.
"Penn, is it you?" said the blind old man.
He was seated on a dry goods box. Trembling and feeble, he arose to greet his young friend, with a noble courtesy very beautiful and touching under the circumstances.
"I cannot tell thee," said Penn, in a choked voice, "how grieved I am to see thee here!"
"And grieved am I that you should see me here!" Mr. Villars replied. "I hoped you were a hundred miles away. I was never sorry to have your company till now! How does it happen?"
Penn made him sit down again, giving him Stackridge's coat for a cushion, and related briefly his adventures.
"It is very singular," said the old man, thoughtfully. "It seems almost providential that you are here."
"I think it is so," said Penn. "I think I am here because I may be of service to you."
"Ah!" replied the old man, with a tender smile, "my life is of but little value compared with yours. I am a worn-out servant; my day of usefulness is past; I am ready to go home. I do not speak repiningly," he added. "If I can serve my country or my God by suffering—if nothing remains for me but that—then I will cheerfully suffer. Our heavenly Father orders all things; and I am content. All will be well with us, if we are obedient children; all will yet be well with our poor country, if it is true to itself and to Him."