"On our side?" I repeated.
He looked at me suddenly, stern mouth tightly shut. A cold light touched his gray eyes and seemed to harden every feature.
"When I say 'our side' I assume you to be loyal, Mr. Cardigan," he said, curtly.
The change in his shrewd, kindly face amazed me. Was it possible for old friends to turn so quickly? Was this coming strife to poison the world with its impending passions?
"If you have become tainted with rebel heresy since you left us, thank God you have returned in time to purge your mind," he said, sternly. "Sir William has gone—Heaven rest his brave soul!—but Sir John is alive to take no uncertain stand in the face of this wicked rebellion which all true loyal hearts must face."
I looked at him serenely. Who but I should know what Sir William had thought about the coming strife. Those sacred confidences of the past had cleared my mind, and made it up long since. Had I not, in Sir William's service, braved death for the sake of these same rebels? I understood my mission better now. I had gone in the cause of humanity—a cause which was not embraced by the loyal subjects of our King. I had failed, but failure had brought wisdom. Never could I set my back against the firm rock of loyalty to fight for a name that now meant nothing to me. I had quenched my thirst at bitter waters; I had learned that men could beggar themselves for principle and die for a tuppenny tax with pockets full.
"Lad," said the doctor, kindly, "the two rough woodsmen who brought you home did what their rude skill permitted to save your life. They washed your wounds and bound them with balsam and linen; they bore you faithfully for miles and miles through the valley of death itself. But, lad, they could not have saved you had not something intervened between you and that keen blade which searched your life to slay it!"
He rose and took something from the chest of drawers in the corner. It was a British flag, all torn and hacked and covered with black stains.
"It was found rolled up beneath your hunting-shirt," he said, solemnly. "Look on it, lad! For this torn flag, which your father died defending, held back that deadly knife, shielding the vital spark beneath its folds. A hair's-breadth more and you had died at the first stab. The flag was your strength and shield: let it become your salvation! It was your father's flag: exalt it!"
He spread the flag reverently upon the bed. I touched its folds, stiff with my own blood. It was the flag of Cresap's fort which I had taken, seeing it abandoned by all.