"My father flew into a terrible rage," said Grace. "He ordered that Dr. Ambrose be locked up at once, and it is his intention to have him shot when he shoots you."
"Miss Hetherill," I said, "you must tell your father that Dr. Ambrose had nothing to do with my escape."
"That would do no good now," she said, "and might do harm. It would not help Dr. Ambrose, for my father regards his proposition to surrender as the worst treason of all, and if I were to say that it was I and not the doctor who helped you, he would not believe me."
This put a new phase on the matter. I felt very sorry for the doctor, who had got himself into trouble on my account. I did not know what to say, but Miss Hetherill interpreted my look.
"Do not fear for Dr. Ambrose," she said. "Some of the men have begun to be of his way of thinking, and my father will not be able to carry out his sentence against either the doctor or you."
I understood at once. A revolt was threatened in the camp, and her fear was neither for the doctor nor for me, but for her father. I felt rather cheap.
"I will help you all I can, Miss Hetherill," I said, a little stiffly, "but I fail to see anything that I can do. As you know, I am a prisoner here."
"But you are not as strictly guarded as you were," she said. "My father's rage against Dr. Ambrose has withdrawn his attention from you, and within a day you may have another chance to escape. He wants you to come now and testify against Dr. Ambrose."
"I cannot do that," I said.
"I do not want you to do so," she said, quickly. "You must say that you made your escape without help, that you picked the lock of your door,—or anything else you choose to say."