“Water!” came a croaking sound from the figure. “Water!”
Dorothea ran back to the stand and poured out a glassful, carrying it to the window. The up-stretched hand grasped it, and the man gulped the contents.
“More,” he muttered hoarsely and again she filled the glass.
“Have you any food?” the man questioned after he had drunk the second measure.
Dorothea shook her head. Then her face brightened.
“Yes, I have, too,” she whispered. “I’ve some chocolate. It’s a part of the French soldier’s rations, so I fancy it won’t hurt you. I’ll get it for you.”
The man consumed what she gave him ravenously and showed an immediate improvement in his condition.
“Food puts life into a man,” he said. “I’ve had nothing to eat since yesterday, and only a little parched corn then. Now, young lady, how am I to get away from here?”
“Really I don’t know,” Dorothea answered hesitatingly. “After all, isn’t that your own affair?”
“They told me I should find some one to help me at this house,” he answered. “When I saw your hand as you opened the window just now I knew where to ask. I’ve been lying here since the hounds chased me yesterday evening.”