"No."
"Never were one?"
"Never."
"In what way would you employ yourself, if set at liberty to-day."
I stared, and felt confused; for however easy I found it to refer to the past, and reason on it, any speculation as to the future was a considerable difficulty.
"You hesitate; you have not yet made up your mind, apparently?"
"It is not that; I am trying to think of liberty, trying to fancy myself free—but I can not!" said I, with a weary sigh; "the air of this cell has sapped my courage and my energy—a little more will finish the ruin!"
"And yet you are not much above four or five-and-twenty years of age?"
"Not yet twenty!" said I.
"Come, come, Tiernay—this is too early to be sick of life!" said he, and the kind tone touched me so that I burst into tears. They were bitter tears, too; for while my heart was relieved by this gush of feeling, I was ashamed at my own weakness. "Come, I say," continued he, "this memoir of yours might have done you much mischief—happily it has not done so. Give me the permission to throw it in the fire, and, instead of it, address a respectful petition to the head of the state, setting forth your services, and stating the casualty by which you were implicated in royalism. I will take care that it meets his eye, and, if possible, will support its prayer; above all, ask for reinstatement in your grade, and a return to the service. It may be, perhaps, that you can mention some superior officer who would vouch for your future conduct."