“Well met, my young Lord,” was the stern reply. “You have found yourself a worthy way of life, and an honourable companion.”
“Honourable indeed, if faithfulness be honour!” replied the boy. “Myself I yield, Sir; but spare him, if yet he lives!—O Adam, my only friend!” he sobbed, as kneeling over him, he raised his head, undid his collar, and parted the black locks, to seek for the mark of the blow, whence blood was fast oozing.
“He lives—he will do well enough,” said the hunter. “Now, tell me, boy—what brought you here?”
“The loving fidelity of this man!” was the prompt reply:—“a Poitevin, a falconer at Kenilworth, who found me sore wounded on the field at Evesham, and ever since has tended me as never vassal tended lord; and now—now hath he indeed died for me!” and the boy, endeavouring to raise the inanimate form, dropped heavy tears on the senseless face.
“True,” rigidly spoke the hunter, though there was somewhat of a quivering of the muscles of the cheek discernible amid the curls of his chestnut beard: “robbery is not the wonted service demanded of retainers.”
“Poor Adam!” said the youth with a flash of spirit, “at least he never stripped the peaceful homestead and humble farmer, like the royal purveyors!”
“Ha—young rebel!” exclaimed the hunter. “Know you what you say?”
“I reck not,” replied the boy: “you have slain my father and my brothers, and now you have slain my last and only friend. Do as you will with me—only for my mother’s sake, let it not be a shameful death; and let my sister Eleanor have my poor Leonillo. And let me, too, leave this gold with the priest of Alton, that my true-hearted loving Adam may have fit burial and masses.”
“I tell thee, boy, he is in no more need of a burial than thou or I. I touched him warily. Here—his face more to the air.”
And the stranger bent down, and with his powerful strength lifted the heavy form of Adam, so that the boy could better support him. Then taking some wine from the hunting-flask slung to his own shoulder, he applied some drops to the bruise. The smart produced signs of life, and the hunter put his flask into the boy’s hand, saying, “Give him a draught, and then—” he put his finger to his own lips, and stood somewhat apart.