He turned impatiently away, laid his head upon the folded cloak, of which Fred had made a pillow and closed his eyes, as if annoyed that he should have seemed weak; while, after pressing the ring tightly down in its place, Fred stood back watching the group of wounded and captive men for a few minutes, before turning away, and then stopping short by the little heap of swords of which they had been deprived.
As it happened, one with a peculiarly shaped guard took his attention, for he remembered having seen it hanging to the belt of the Cavalier he had been tending.
Stooping down, he was in the act of drawing it from among the others, when the sentinel made a movement to arrest his hand.
“Don’t interfere,” said Fred, sharply. “I will be answerable to Colonel Forrester for what I have done.”
The man drew back, and stood resting upon his clumsy firelock again, while, as the lad stood with the sword in his hand, he raised his eyes from the hilt, and found that the Cavalier was watching him, and making a sign to him to approach once more.
Fred stepped to his side.
“No,” he said; “you cannot have it. You are a prisoner.”
“Of course,” said the wounded man, smiling; “though if I had it, I could not use it. I was going to say I am glad you have taken it. A capital blade, my boy. Here, unbuckle the belt, and take it and the sheath. Yes, I insist. That’s right. Keep it, lad, and don’t, if we meet again, use it on me. No, no thanks; it is yours by right of capture. Now I want a nap.”