“Wild thyme?” said Rodd quickly.
“Ah, yes; wild thyme. And there for a long time I sat nursing my left arm, fighting against what seemed to be a feeling of happiness, and trying to think of all the evil that the English had done us, and what I would do as soon as I got free. But it was too much for me. I couldn’t do it, and what I had looked upon from the prison windows from between the bars would not seem to be the same wild stony desert, but beautiful and full of hope and joy.”
“Ah!” cried Rodd. “That’s because you were getting better. I know what you felt. I was like that once after a bad fever, and when I was taken out one fine morning for the first time, though I was weak as a rat I felt as if I must run and jump and shout all about nothing; but it was because everything looked so beautiful, and I knew that I must be getting well.”
The boys’ eyes met for a few moments, and then Morny bowed his head slowly and went on.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “I suppose it was a beautiful healthy place, and it began to make me feel like that; and as I looked round—for I had climbed very high—I could see right down into parts of a valley that was all full of sunshine and flashing light, for there was a little dancing stream running swiftly along, and as I looked down into it and saw how it widened here and narrowed there as it flashed amongst the great rocks of granite, it set me thinking about home, and instead of going on planning how I would revenge myself upon the English, I began to wonder whether there would be trout there too, and soon afterwards I began to creep slowly down so as to see. And then I remember that I burst out laughing at myself, for it seemed so droll. My legs would keep on bending under me, and I had to sit down and rest every now and then.”
“You were so weak,” said Rodd earnestly.
“Yes, that was it,” cried Morny; “but I didn’t understand at first, and somehow I didn’t seem to mind a bit, but sat down and rested time after time, till at last I got right down to the edge of the little river, all shallow and dotted with blocks of stone; and there at first were the little trout darting about to hide themselves, scared away by my shadow upon the water. But as I sat down to watch they soon came out again, and began leaping at the little gnats that were flitting about the surface. Then do you know how that made me feel?”
“Well,” said Rodd, “I know how it would make an English boy feel—myself, for instance.”
“How?”
“As if he’d like to have my namesake with only one d in his hand, and begin whipping the stream.”