Ben and his three comrades were placed in a room opening on the court-yard, with leave to go anywhere about the quadrangle, with a sentry placed over them—hardly a necessity, for they were all suffering from wounds, of which, however, they made light when Roy went to them, setting him a capital example of keeping a good heart.
Then, finding himself fully at liberty to go where he pleased, the sentries saluting and letting him pass, Roy made for the hospital-room, longing for and yet dreading the interview, fearing as he did to witness his mother’s despair.
To his surprise, as she eagerly caught his hands in hers, her face was wreathed in smiles, and she strove to comfort him.
“Defeated, Roy; but even your enemies honour you for your brave defence,” she whispered.
“Ours, mother; not mine only,” he said. And then, feeling that he could not even allude to the traitor who carefully kept out of his way, he went round to the men’s beds with Lady Royland. The place was pretty full now, but in spite of serious wounds the room looked cheerful, and the men of both sides received them with smiles. There was only one sad face, and that was Sam Donny’s, for he had taken to his bed again, “from weakness,” Lady Royland said.
She passed on to the next bed, and Roy sat down by the poor fellow for a few minutes, to take his hand, gazing the while in his drawn and wrinkled face.
“I’m very, very sorry, Sam,” Roy said, gently. “Come, you must try and get right again.”
“Yes, captain,” said the man loudly, with a groan. “I was to have been out in a few days if I hadn’t turned worse. This doctor don’t understand my case.”
“What is it?” said Roy, anxiously. “Has your wound broken out again?”
“Nothing at all,” whispered the man, with his eyes twinkling. “I’m nearly as right as you are, sir; and when you want me, here I am.”