“I mean, I’ve been all in a squabble, with things mixed up in my head, and people talking to me, and rabbits squealing, and Master Scar shouting ‘Nat,’ I aren’t asleep now, are I?”
“Asleep now, Nat? No, no, my dear old fellow,” cried Scarlett, whose voice sounded thick with emotion. “But you are badly hurt eh?”
“Well, tidy, Master Scar, tidy. They give it to me pretty well. But I’m better now, dear lad; I’m better now. Oh, oh, I say, Master Scar, lad, hit me in both eyes hard. I’m so weak I’m going to blubber like a gal.”
“No, no, my dear old Nat,” whispered Scarlett. “Keep up, man, keep up. I want you to help me.”
“Help you, Master Scarlett? Why, I don’t believe I could even pull my sword out of its sheath!”
“But you will soon, Nat,” whispered Scarlett, eagerly. “I want your help. My father is wounded, and in hiding close by here.”
“The master?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Sir Godfrey?”
“Yes, yes, Nat; badly wounded. We were nearly burned in the fire, when the Hall was in a blaze; but we got out, and he is badly wounded, and I was going to try and get food.”