“No,” he said; “they were all hunted down like wild beasts—treated as spies.”
“And where are they now?” said Waller eagerly.
“Who knows?” replied the lad sadly. “Lingering in prison, if they have not already been shot. Quick! Tell me,” he continued, catching Waller by the arm. “My father! Have you heard anything about him?”
“I? No,” said Waller. “Oh, surely not shot! But in this quiet country place at the Manor we hear so little of what is going on. I can’t help being so ignorant about all these things.”
“You are all the happier, perhaps,” said the lad sadly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Waller. “I am afraid I don’t know much about what’s going on. I am fond of being out here in the woods. It is holiday-time now my father’s out. But I say,” he continued, with a frank laugh, “isn’t it rather funny that you and I should be talking together like this, after—you know—such a little while ago?”
“Yes, I suppose so; but I thought you were one of the enemy coming to take me.”
“Yes,” said Waller; “and I don’t know what I thought about you when I was looking down the barrel of that pistol.”
“I—I beg your pardon,” faltered the lad. “I was half-mad.”
“Quite mad, I think,” said Waller to himself. Then aloud, “But, I say, why were you here?”