“Beaten, but not conquered,” replied the latter gravely; “and we have lost—”
Marion, statue-like, appeared at her father’s side.
“A hundred men and five officers,” continued the burgher captain.
“We had friends in the action,” said Mr Daveney, trying to be firm. “Can you tell us if they are safe?”
“Their names, sir?”
“Frankfort and Ormsby.”
“I have the list of officers killed and wounded,” said the man; and first he looked in his hat, next he fumbled in his capacious pockets, then he turned his haversack round,—it was not there; examined his pouch—“No; he was afraid he had lost it.” How little could he understand the agonised suspense of Marion.
He took off his wide-flapped hat again.
“See under the feather,” said May.
The bushman’s quick eye had detected a paper stuck in the string encircling the hat; it was the list. May snatched it from him, and handed it to Mr Daveney.