"I dare say," said Brooke. "Oh yes; you see you've been having a precious hard time of it."
"Yes," mused Talbot. "Fear, hope, suspense, shame, grief, despair; then fear, suspense, and despair; then hope and joy, followed again by despair. So it has been, and all in a few days. Brooke, I tell you I am another person altogether from that girl who left her home so short a time ago. Miss Talbot—where is she? I am the lad Talbot—comrade of a brave man—fighting with him for my life, and now along with him resting in the Valley of the Shadow of Death."
"Bosh!" said Brooke, in a husky, choking voice. He muttered a few unintelligible words, and then ceased.
"Death is near, Brooke—very near; I feel it."
"Talbot," said Brooke, with something like a groan, "talk of something else."
"It's near to you."
"Well, what if it is?"
"And it's near to me."
"It's not; I tell you it's not," cried Brooke, excitedly.
"It was the old fashion of chivalry, upheld by all the Talbots, that the page or the squire should never survive the chief. I'm a Talbot. Do you understand me, Brooke?"