"I am in your hands," said Henry.
"You can stay in the prison," said de Peyster. "You'll be out of the way and you'll be much safer there."
"You're in command here."
"I know it," said de Peyster grimly, "and into the prison you go."
Henry accordingly was placed in close confinement, where he remained for days without seeing anybody except the soldier who brought him his food and water, and from whom he could obtain no news at all. But he would make no complaint to this soldier, although the imprisonment was terribly irksome. He had been an entire week within walls. Such a thing had never happened before in his life, and often he felt as if he were choking. It seemed also at times that the great body which made him remarkable was shrinking. He knew that it was only the effect of imagination, but it preyed upon him, and he understood now how one could wither away from mere loneliness and inaction.
His mind traveled over the countless scenes of tense activity that had been crowded into the last three or four years of his life. He had been many times in great and imminent danger, but it was always better than lying here between four walls that seemed to come closer every day. He recalled the deep woods, the trees that he loved, the sparkling waters, lakes, rivers and brooks; he recalled the pursuit of the big game, the deer and the buffalo; he recalled the faces of his comrades, how they jested with one another and fought side by side, and once more he understood what a terrible thing it is for a man to have his comings and goings limited to a space a few feet square. But he resolved that he would not complain, that he would ask no favor of de Peyster or Caldwell or any of them.
Once he saw Braxton Wyatt come to a window and gaze in. The look of the renegade was full of unholy triumph, and Henry knew that he was there for the special purpose of exultation. He sat calm and motionless while the renegade stared at him. Wyatt remained at the window a full half hour, seeking some sign of suffering, or at least an acknowledgment of his presence, but he obtained neither, and he went on, leaving the silent figure full of rage.
On the tenth day Holderness came in with the soldier. Henry knew by his face that he had something to say, but he waited for the lieutenant to speak first. Holderness fidgeted and did not approach the real subject for a little while. He spoke with sympathy of Henry's imprisonment and remarked on the loss of his tan.
"It's hard to be shut up like this, I know," he said, "but it is the fortune of war. Now I suppose if I were taken by the Americans they would do to me what Colonel de Peyster has done to you."
"I don't know," replied Henry, truthfully.