She looked up at my window only a moment or two, and then, walking with a light and graceful step, disappeared through some door opening into the court. I hold that I am not without a fair share of imagination; and easily I builded a fine romance for myself. Here was I, an innocent prisoner in the cruel baron's castle, and this was his fair daughter, who would fall in love with me and rescue me. By Jove! she was handsome enough for me to fall in love with her. The only trouble about my romance was that in the morning after a good night's rest I would be sent with a guide to our hunting-camp, and that would be the end of it.
Happily, when I reached this conclusion, the door was opened, and Crothers came in with food, for which I was devoutly grateful. Crothers—I had heard the colonel call him so—was the man who had opened the door for us, a hatchet-faced, battered old fellow, who walked with a limp and who yet looked strong and active.
Evidently the colonel had no mind to starve me, for Crothers bore enough for two upon his tray. A smoking pot of coffee, steaks of venison and beef, warm biscuits, and butter, made a sight as welcome to my eyes as a Raphael to an artist's, and created odors that were divine. My spirits rose to the summer-heat mark.
"I see that the colonel has a proper regard for my health and well-being, Crothers," I said, jovially.
"The colonel hates all Yankees, and so do the rest of us," he said, in surly fashion; "but he doesn't want to starve any of you to death, though I guess you starved enough of us to death in Camp Chase."
"Camp Chase? what the deuce was that?" I asked.
"One of your war prisons," he replied. "Try that coffee; you'll find it good, and you'll find the venison and the beef to be good too."
I had no doubt that I would. I put the question immediately to proof, which, I may add, was satisfactory. Encouraged by his friendly comment upon the food, in which he seemed to take a certain pride, perhaps having cooked it himself, I spoke to him in friendly fashion, expecting a reply of like tenor. But he seemed to have repented of his sudden courtesy, and made no reply. He had placed the tray upon the table, and without further word or action left the room. I heard him locking my door with as much care as if he had been Colonel Hetherill himself.
I began now to feel that I was in truth and reality a prisoner, a fact which I contemplated before only in a humorous or make-believe way. Nevertheless it did not interfere with my appetite. I realized that prisoners may become as hungry as free men, and, as I could truthfully say I knew not where the next meal would come from, I made satisfactory disposition of this.