"This will be your prison for the present," said the colonel. "Lie down on the bed there and rest, and Crothers will be up in ten minutes with food for you."
"Prison!" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"Yes, prison," he repeated, "but that is all. I do not intend to deal harshly with you otherwise. You are a Yankee, and I must see that you do not meddle."
He cut short my protest by leaving the room, slamming the door, and locking it. The door was so thick I could not hear his retreating footsteps. As the colonel had said, I was a prisoner, but I did not feel much alarm. I had confidence in his promise that I would come to no harm. I looked between the bars of the window, which opened upon a small space like a court. One side of the court was open and ran sheer up to the edge of the cliff, which dropped away thirty or forty feet to the river below. The torrent foamed around the mound with a tumult like a mill-race. Beyond were open fields, ending abruptly at the foot of steep and rough mountains.
CHAPTER II.
ON TRIAL.
My eyes followed the long sweep of the mountains, their shaggy outline cutting the clear blue of the skies; then they came back to the court, and for the moment I thought that they had deceived me, for either I saw the flutter of a woman's dress or imagination was my master. A woman in this rough fortress was the last thing for me to expect. But I reflected that it was not so strange, after all. A serving-woman, probably, the wife of one of the colonel's retainers. It was in keeping with the character of the place, which in my fancy I had turned into a baronial keep.
I saw the flutter of the dress again, and then its wearer came into better view. She was looking at the river, and stood with her back toward the house. That was no common serving-woman, the wife of no laborer. The figure was too slender, too erect; there was too much distinction and grace in the pose, and the dress itself was of good cut and material. That was all that I could see, save a mass of coiled, dark brown hair.
I was full of curiosity, nor do I think I was prying because of it. Put yourself in my place and see. In a few moments she turned and looked directly up at my window, though she could not have known that I was gazing out at her. It was the face of a girl of twenty, fair and strong, yet sad. Even at the distance between us, I could see enough resemblance to guess that she was Colonel Hetherill's daughter. A likely enough supposition, anyway, for what girl of such appearance could be here unless his daughter?