“I——I had no such intention when I set out,” stammered Armstrong, abashed that for once his natural caution had forsaken him. “It matters little how far south I go, and I am willing to do an errand for a friend. I took him for a Royalist at first, and so saw no danger in his purpose, but if he be a Parliamentarian, then Oxford is a place to avoid.”
“Did he not tell you he was a Parliamentarian?” questioned the girl, now alarmed in her turn.
“No. You told me so.”
“I? You must be mistaken, sir; I gave you no information about my brother.”
“You said his friend in the King’s forces had not thought the less of him because he took the other side.”
“I am distraught with anxiety about him, and gave but little heed to my words. I would have you remember only what my brother himself told you.”
“You need have no fear, madam. Anything said by either of you will never be used to your hurt. I am a Scot, and have nothing to do with English strife.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the door and the reappearance of the doctor. The girl could not conceal her trepidation, for the nontechnical stranger’s assurances had slight weight with her.
“Thomas is doing very well; very well indeed,” said the old man. “You have no cause for alarm, not the slightest, if he can but be kept quiet for some days, and rest where he is for a few weeks. You attended to him, sir, and I take it that you possess a smattering of our art.”
“I have need of that knowledge, Doctor,” replied Armstrong, “for those who have done me the honour to run me through rarely had the consideration to make their attack within easy call of a surgeon.”