It betrayed him into darting a startled glance at our faces，but that was all.He was serene again in a moment，and tranquilly answered：
“I do not know，sir.”
“You do not know？”
“I do not know.”
“You are sure you do not know？”
He tried hard to keep his eyes on mine，but the strain was too great；his chin sunk slowly toward his breast and he was silent；he stood there nervously fumbling with a button，an object to command one's pity，in spite of his base acts.Presently I broke the stillness with the question：
“Who are the ‘Holy Alliance'？”
His body shook visibly，and he made a slight random gesture with his hands，which to me was like the appeal of a despairing creature for compassion.But he made no sound.He continued to stand with his face bent toward the ground.As we sat gazing at him，waiting for him to speak，we saw the big tears begin to roll down his cheeks.But he remained silent.After a little，I said：
“You must answer me，my boy，and you must tell me the truth.Who are the Holy Alliance？”
He wept on in silence.Presently I said，somewhat sharply：
“Answer the question!”
He struggled to get command of his voice；and then，looking up appealingly，forced the words out between his sobs：
“Oh，have pity on me，sir!I cannot answer it，for I do not know.”
“What!”
“Indeed，sir，I am telling the truth.I never have heard of the Holy Alliance till this moment.On my honor，sir，this is so.”
“Good heavens!Look at this second letter of yours；there，do you see those words，‘Holy Alliance'？What do you say now？”
He gazed up into my face with the hurt look of one upon whom a great wrong had been wrought，then said，feelingly：
“This is some cruel joke，sir；and how could they play it upon me，who have tried all I could to do right，and have never done harm to anybody？Some one has counterfeited my hand；I never wrote a line of this；I have never seen this letter before!”
“Oh，you unspeakable liar!Here，what do you say to this？”—and I snatched the sympathetic-ink letter from my pocket and thrust it before his eyes.
His face turned white—as white as a dead person's.He wavered slightly in his tracks，and put his hand against the wall to steady himself.After a moment he asked，in so faint a voice that it was hardly audible：
“Have you—read it？”
Our faces must have answered the truth before my lips could get out a false “yes，”for I distinctly saw the courage come back into that boy's eyes.I waited for him to say something，but he kept silent.So at last I said：
“Well，what have you to say as to the revelations in this letter？”
He answered，with perfect composure：
“Nothing，except that they are entirely harmless and innocent；they can hurt nobody.”
I was in something of a corner now，as I couldn't disprove his assertion.I did not know exactly how to proceed.However，an idea came to my relief，and I said：
“You are sure you know nothing about the Master and the Holy Alliance，and did not write the letter which you say is a forgery？”
“Yes，sir—sure.”
I slowly drew out the knotted twine string and held it up without speaking.He gazed at it indifferently，then looked at me inquiringly.My patience was sorely taxed.However，I kept my temper down，and said,in my usual voice：
“Wicklow，do you see this？”
“Yes，sir.”
“What is it？”
“It seems to be a piece of string.”
“Seems？It is a piece of string.Do you recognize it？”
“No，sir，”he replied，as calmly as the words could be uttered.
His coolness was perfectly wonderful!I paused now for several seconds，in order that the silence might add impressiveness to what I was about to say；then I rose and laid my hand on his shoulder，and said,gravely：
“It will do you no good，poor boy，none in the world.This sign to the ‘Master，'this knotted string，found in one of the guns on the waterfront—”
“Found in the gun!Oh，no，no，no!do not say in the gun，but in a crack in the tompion!—it must have been in the crack!”and down he went on his knees and clasped his hands and lifted up a face that was pitiful to see，so ashy it was，and wild with terror.
“No，it was in the gun.”
“Oh，something has gone wrong!My God，I am lost!”and he sprang up and darted this way and that，dodging the hands that were put out to catch him，and doing his best to escape from the place.But of course escape was impossible.Then he flung himself on his knees again，crying with all his might，and clasped me around the legs；and so he clung to me and begged and pleaded，saying，“Oh，have pity on me!Oh，be merciful to me!Do not betray me；they would not spare my life a moment!Protect me，save me.I will confess everything!”
It took us some time to quiet him down and modify his fright，and get him into something like a rational frame of mind.Then I began to question him，he answering humbly，with downcast eyes，and from time to time swabbing away his constantly flowing tears:
“So you are at heart a rebel？”
“Yes，sir.”
“And a spy？”
“Yes，sir.”
“And have been acting under distinct orders from outside？”
“Yes，sir.”
“Willingly？”
“Yes，sir.”
“Gladly，perhaps？”
“Yes，sir；it would do no good to deny it.The South is my country；my heart is Southern，and it is all in her cause.”
“Then the tale you told me of your wrongs and the persecution of your family was made up for the occasion？”
“They—they told me to say it，sir.”
“And you would betray and destroy those who pitied and sheltered you.Do you comprehend how base you are，you poor misguided thing？”
He replied with sobs only.
“Well，let that pass.To business.Who is the ‘Colonel，'and where is he？”
He began to cry hard，and tried to beg off from answering.He said he would be killed if he told.I threatened to put him in the dark cell and lock him up if he did not come out with the information.At the same time I promised to protect him from all harm if he made a clean breast.For all answer，he closed his mouth firmly and put on a stubborn air which I could not bring him out of.At last I started with him；but a single glance into the dark cell converted him.He broke into a passion of weeping and supplicating，and declared he would tell everything.