"You ought to be thankful," said Shirley, "and not mock me. What could I do? How could I gauge your appetites or number your band? For aught I knew, there might have been fifty of you at least to victual. You told me nothing; and then an application to provision soldiers naturally suggests large ideas."
"It appears so," remarked Moore, levelling another of his keen, quiet glances at the discomfited Shirley.—"Now," he continued, addressing the carter, "I think you may take what remains to the Hollow. Your load will be somewhat lighter than the one Miss Keeldar destined you to carry."
As the vehicle rumbled out of the yard, Shirley, rallying her spirits, demanded what had become of the wounded.
"There was not a single man hurt on our side," was the answer.
"You were hurt yourself, on the temples," interposed a quick, low voice—that of Caroline, who, having withdrawn within the shade of the door, and behind the large person of Mrs. Gill, had till now escaped Moore's notice. When she spoke, his eye searched the obscurity of her retreat.
"Are you much hurt?" she inquired.
"As you might scratch your finger with a needle in sewing."
"Lift your hair and let us see."
He took his hat off, and did as he was bid, disclosing only a narrow slip of court-plaster. Caroline indicated, by a slight movement of the head, that she was satisfied, and disappeared within the clear obscure of the interior.
"How did she know I was hurt?" asked Moore.