"Oh, it is pleasant to be flattered! But why this praise of me? We were strangers not an hour ago."
"I have heard so much of you. You were so kind to the men who sortied from Knaresborough and returned with wounds. You sat by the ferry-steps—all like a good angel—and bound their hurts afresh when they smarted. Oh, indeed, we have heard of your pleasant skill in healing."
While they faced each other, there came the thud and racket of horse-hoofs down the road. The rider drew rein amid a swirl of dust, cleared his eyes with a hand that trembled, and looked from one face to another. His tired face lit up when at last he saw the Governor of Knaresborough.
"Give you good-day, sir. I was riding to seek aid from you."
"The devil you were," growled the other. "The man sups lean who trusts to my help, Graham. Knaresborough's in other hands since—since Marston."
"It would be. I had forgotten that. But you're here."
"What is your need, lad?"
"A few men to help me, over at Norton Conyers. I rode to ask if you could lend them me."
"All of us, if we're needed. We were jesting on the road here, for lack of other occupation. What is it? But, first, is your uncle safe—tough Reginald Graham? I love him as I love the steep rock-face of Knaresborough."
"It was this way. My uncle would have me near him at Marston. We were with Rupert on the right wing, and were close behind one of the Riding Metcalfs—I know not which, for they're all big men and as like as two peas in a pod—and saw him cut Cromwell through the throat. We were together when we broke the Roundheads and pursued too far. It was when we came to the ditch again, and found Leslie there with his Scots, that I lost Sir Reginald. I took a wound or two in the stampede that followed, and was laid by in a little farmstead near Wilstrop Wood. The good-wife was kind to me—said she had lost a bairn of her own not long since, trampled down by flying horsemen at the gate."