“Heaven forbid, my boy,” said Sir Edward softly, and he laid his hand gently on the wounded lad’s brow—and kept it there as Master Rayburn entered the room.
“You’ve heard, then!” he cried, throwing down his hat and stick, and beginning to examine his patient.
“Yes, Mark tells me. Is it all true?”
“True, yes,” growled Master Rayburn. “I find they attacked you, were beaten, and then went across and round by the down to Cliff Castle. When I got there it was in ashes, burnt out, and the wretches had gone back with what plunder they could save, and two prisoners to their den.”
“Two prisoners?”
“Yes—put your finger here, Mark, while I clip off his hair. Here’s a bad cut—Sir Morton badly hurt, and his sweet young child, Minnie.”
“Oh!” cried Sir Edward excitedly. “But is this true—are you sure?”
“I had it from one of his men, Nick Garth. Badly wounded too. But he and three others broke out of their window where they were prisoned, in a tower chamber, and out of revenge, to keep the enemy from keeping the place, as they were going to do, they set it on fire.”
“Who did?” said Sir Edward sharply.
“Nick Garth and Ram Jennings. He’s wounded too. A fine chance for you now, Eden. You can march in and take possession of your enemy’s lands.”