"More power to ye," said the Irishman, promptly. "Give me the grip of your hand—and, by my sowl, I'll give ye a chance to run for it at the next corner."
But Wat declined the obliging offer of the good-hearted Irishman.
"I thank you with all my heart," he said. "It is kindly meant. But I prefer to stand my trial. Things can't be worse with me than they are!"
"Faith, it's you that knows, my son," said the Irishman; "but to Patrick Ryan's thinking a long hempen necktie, swung elegantly over a beam, might make things a deal worse for ye!"
And in a minute more the iron gate of the military prison of Amersfort had shut-to upon Wat Gordon.
[CHAPTER XI]
THE HEARTS OF WOMEN
Barra and Will Gordon returned together to the lodgings in the street of Zaandpoort. There was a sinister look of inexpressible triumph on the dark face of my Lord of Barra. When they reached home Will Gordon threw himself silently, face downward, on the oak settle; for there arose in his heart the memory of those days, not so long ago, when he and Wat had slept under one plaid among the heather on the moors of Scotland. And the tears stood in his eyes for the thing which he had seen that night.
On their way back Barra had bubbled over with laughing sneers at the downfall of his immaculate and virtuous cousin, but Will Gordon had paced along sad and silent by his side. Ancient loyalty kept him without words, yet in his heart he condemned Lochinvar most bitterly, far more intensely indeed even than Barra.