“Where?” cried Ralph quickly. “Was there a little stream running there—warm water?”
“To be sure there was. Hard stones, and warm water: those were our bed and beverage last night.”
“I know the place. Darch Scarr.”
“Fine scar, too, lad. Been better if it had been healed up, with a door to keep out the cold wind. Oh! so this is where my old comrade lives,” he added, as he came in sight of an arched gateway, with embattled top and turrets, while through the entry, a tree-shaded courtyard could be seen. “And a right good dwelling too. Come on, brave boys. Here’s rest and breakfast at last.”
“And I hope you’ll go directly after,” thought Ralph, as he led the way into the courtyard, and paused at a second entrance, at the top of a flight of stone steps, well commanded by loopholes on either side. Then aloud:
“Will you wait here a minute, while I go and tell my father?”
“Yes: tell him his old brother-officer is here.”
“I did not catch your name when you spoke before,” said Ralph. “Captain Pearl Ross?”
“Nay, nay, boy; Purlrose. He’ll know directly you speak. Tell him, I’m waiting to grasp him by the hand.”
Ralph nodded, and sprang up the stone flight, while the visitor’s companions threw themselves down upon the steps to rest, their leader remaining standing, and placing himself by the mounting stone on one side, hand upon sword-hilt, and arranging his ragged cloak in folds with as much care as if it had been of newest velvet.