His manner
indicated clearly that he would make no attempt to escape, and, armed
though the four soldiers were, and unarmed though their captive was, they
breathed four simultaneous sighs of relief. Henry Ware, boy though he was,
with his great height and powerful shoulders, chest, and limbs, was a
truly formidable figure.
Braxton Wyatt turned the key noisily in the huge padlock that held the
door.
"There," he said, "I think we've got that cattle securely fastened in the
pen!"
Henry knew that the insulting words were intended for his ear, but he gave
no sign of hearing them. He stood expressionless, awaiting the word to the
soldiers to march. Braxton Wyatt quickly gave it. He was angrier than
ever, because he could not stir Henry Ware, whom he hated most of all, to
open anger.
The march led straight to the Chateau of Beaulieu, across well-trimmed
sward, and Henry's alert eye took in everything, the pretentious house, so
unlike anything erected by his own people in Kentucky, the low
outbuildings, and the occasional gleam of a uniform.
But Henry did not observe at this moment with any eye to the escape of
himself and his comrades. His condition of mind was spiritual and he felt
a satisfaction for which he could not have accounted if he had tried.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209