"No," and I cut the rope binding his ankles. "But I was searching for you. I am an officer of Maxwell's brigade; my name is Lawrence. Tell me first what has happened,—why you are being held prisoner."
He stretched his cramped arms and legs, lifting his hat so that I saw his face dimly. In the gloom his resemblance to Claire was so remarkable that I involuntarily exclaimed:
"Heavens! but you look like your sister!"
"Like Claire! they all say so; you know her?"
"It is at her request I am here; you need not fear to tell me your story."
"Oh, I do not. I can see your uniform. But damn it, I don't know any too much about what is up myself. This is Red Fagin's outfit."
"I thought so. Where did he get you? How long have you been a prisoner?"
The boy laughed recklessly, his eyes upon the others.
"Well, my story is a short one, Lawrence. I had a fellow in the British service who occasionally gave me information. Word came to me to meet him at a certain spot—"
"You mean Captain Grant?"