Oswald went into the cottage and returned with some salve, with which he dressed Edward's arm, which proved to be very severely burned.
"How grateful the intendant ought to be—and will be, I have no doubt!" observed Oswald.
"And for that very reason I shall saddle my pony and ride home as fast as I can; and, do you hear, Oswald, do not show him where I live."
"I hardly know how I can refuse him, if he requires it."
"But you must not. He will be offering me a situation in the forest, by way of showing his gratitude, and I will accept of none. I have no objection to save his daughter, as I would save the daughter of my worst enemy, or my worst enemy himself, from such a dreadful death; but I do not want their thanks or offers of service. I will accept nothing from a Roundhead; and as for the venison in the forest, it belongs to the king, and I shall help myself whenever I think proper. Good-by, Oswald, you will call and see us when you have time?"
"I will be with you before the week is out, depend upon it," replied
Oswald.
Edward then asked Oswald to saddle his pony for him, as his arm prevented him from doing it himself, and, as soon as it was done, he rode away from the cottage.
Edward rode fast, for he was anxious to get home and ascertain the state of poor old Jacob; and, moreover, his burned arm was very painful. He was met by Humphrey about a mile from the cottage, who told him that he did not think that the old man could last many hours, and that he was very anxious to see him. As the pony was quite tired with the fast pace that Edward had ridden, Edward pulled up to a walk, and as they went along acquainted Humphrey with what had passed.
"Is your arm very painful?"
"Yes, it is, indeed," replied Edward; "but it can't be helped."