Then he remembered Morley. Where was he? Gone perhaps, thinking he had at last killed his enemy.
Well, the enemy was not dead. There might be time for another meeting, and an explanation. In the meantime he, the boy Washington had trusted, must try to gain the American ranks and claim his reward! He arose, swayed, but gradually grew less giddy.
He was young, and hope was stronger than his wound. Another effort; and this time he stood upright.
How lonely it was! The bleak wind swept among the gaunt trees making them moan and creak. If he should die there, who would ever bear the word to General Washington that he had faithfully performed his duty?
No! he must live, and get away from that fearsome place, the stillness was driving him mad!
“Help! for God’s sake help!” It was not the wind moaning. Shirtliffe started. Again came the cry, “Help! help!”
Some one needed aid, he must find him and do what he could. Stumbling forward he reached a clump of leafless bushes, and there, lying at full length where he had crawled after he was wounded, lay Morley!
Forgetting all, but his pity for the dying boy, Robert knelt beside his late foe.
He knew death when he saw it now, and in gentle patience he smoothed the curly hair from the clammy brow and waited for the last words. There was always something to be said.
“I thought you were dead that time!” Morley gasped the words, then gave a groan.