"So good-morrow to you, John Stich."
"Good-morrow."
The Corporal nodded to the young man, then turned on his heel and presently his voice was heard ringing out the word of command,—
"Attention!—Right turn—Quick march!"
John Stich and the young man watched the half-dozen red-coated figures as they turned to skirt the cottage: the dull thud of their feet quickly dying away, as they wound their way slowly up the muddy path which leads across the Heath to Aldwark village.
CHAPTER III
THE FUGITIVE
Inside the forge all was still, whilst the last of the muffled sounds died away in the distance. John Stich had not resumed work. It was his turn now to stare moodily before him.
The young man had thrown the bellows aside, and was pacing the rough earthen floor of the forge like some caged animal.
"Tracked!" he murmured at last between clenched teeth, "tracked like some wild beast! perhaps shot anon like a dangerous cur behind a hedge!"