But the pain of my hurt followed into my dreams. I woke with a start, and tried to sit up.
Within the kitchen all was quiet. The old savage was still stretch’d on the floor: the cat curled upon the hearth. The girl had not stirr’d: but looking toward the window hole, I saw night out side, and a frosty star sparkling far down in the west.
“Joan, what’s the hour?”
“Sun’s been down these four hours.” She turned her face to look at me.
“I’ve no business lying here.”
“Chose to come, lad: none axed thee, that I knows by.”
“Where’s the mare? Must set me across her back, Joan, and let me ride on.”
“Mare’s in stable, wi’ fetlocks swelled like puddens. Chose to come, lad; an’ choose or no, must bide.”
“’Tis for the General Hopton, at Bodmin, I am bound, Joan; and wound or no, must win there this night.”
“And that’s seven mile away: wi’ a bullet in thy skull, and a peat quag thy burial. For they went south, and thy road lieth more south than west.”