“Have I been to sleep, Samson?”
“Yes, sir, sound as a top. You dropped off after you had that bread and cider.”
“And the Hall?—is it still burning?”
“Yes, sir; a regular steady fire down at the bottom, with the walls standing up all round.”
“And the prisoners?”
“All gone, sir. They packed ’em off to the west’ard in a couple of waggons, and a troop of our men as escorts. Fine fellows, sir, all but that one as fired the Hall. I couldn’t help being sorry to see how wounded and helpless they were. But how they carried it off, laughing and talking there till they’d been seen to, and were tired and got stiff! Then it began to tell on ’em, and they had to be lifted into the waggons and laid on the straw almost to a man.”
“I hope they’ll all recover,” said Fred, sadly.
“So do I, sir, even if we have to fight ’em again. But we shall see no more of the poor lads for a long time, unless some of their party rescues them, cures them, and the game begins over again. Feel ready, sir?”
“Ready?”
“Yes; it’s about twelve o’clock, and I thought you might like to come and help me bully that ugly brother of mine.”