“I will not try to escape. I could not if I wished. I tell you it is all over now, I am taken at last.”
“I say,” cried Waller, gazing at the poor fellow anxiously, “why are you here? What have you done?” And then slowly, and in almost a whisper, as he glanced sharply round for the pistol, “You haven’t killed anybody, have you?”
“Killed! No! What have I done? Nothing that should disgrace a gentleman. Nothing but fight for the cause of my lawful king.”
Waller looked at the lad curiously, for his words and the wildness of his looks again brought up the idea that he was a little off his head.
“But I say,” he said, “if you were fighting, as you call it, for your lawful king, why should the soldiers be after you?”
“Because I am an enemy—a follower of the Stuarts.”
“Oh,” said Waller, in a puzzled tone, as the lad slowly and painfully rose and then snatched at something to save himself, for he reeled. “Here, I say, you are weak,” cried Waller, saving him from falling, “lean on me. The stream is just over there,” and he led his feeble adversary down the slope to the nearest opening where he could lie down and reach over the bank to drink from the clear water in the most ancient and natural way—that is, by lowering his lips till they touched the surface.
The lad drank deeply, and then rose to a sitting position, making no effort to stand.
“Ah,” he said faintly, “I feel better now. There,” he went on, “I suppose you didn’t know the soldiers were here?”
Waller shook his head, content to listen.