“Oh, come, I say, don’t go on like that. Any one would think you were a great girl. How can I help you? I daren’t. What would my uncle say if he knew I’d helped a French prisoner to escape from his guards? You shouldn’t, you know. It isn’t right nor fair. Just because you have got into trouble, that’s no reason why you should drag another fellow down too. Look here, what are you running away for?”
“Why?” cried the lad bitterly. “Because I am a prisoner, and I wanted to see my poor father free.”
“Well, look here,” said Rodd huskily; “I am very sorry, you know, and I’d help you if I could, but it’s against the law, and— I say! Quick! Don’t speak aloud. I can hear some one coming. Yes, it’s the soldiers, I think.”
“Oh!” cried the French lad wildly, and he gazed about him with every nerve quivering, his whole aspect being that of some hunted beast with the dogs close upon his track.
“Don’t get up,” cried Rodd. “I tell you, I mustn’t help you; it’s against the law; but if I were in your fix I know what I should do. Not afraid of the water, are you?”
“What, swim for my life? Nonsense! In a stream like this!”
“No, no. Wade into that hole opposite yonder, and hide there till the soldiers are gone.”
“But they’d be sure to look there.”
“Not they! They’d be afraid of spoiling their breeches and gaiters and washing out the pipe-clay.”
“Ready for you to betray me to them,” whispered the lad bitterly. “No; I’ll surrender like a man.”