“Have no fear for me,” said Gervase, rising to his feet and feebly attempting to stand; “for I have little fear for myself. Life is sweet and I do not wish to die, but the dread of death will not make me a coward. I shall die as I have humbly striven to live--though,” he added, with a faint smile, “hanging is hardly seemly for a gentleman. I knew poor Charleton, and they say he met his death like a man. I hope I may do the same when my time comes.”
“These are but heroics,” said the Vicomte; “we must not grumble at our cards but play the game, and yours--Well, sir, what do you want?”
A sergeant of dragoons entered the room and swaggered forward, “My Lord would see the prisoner, and I was sent to fetch him.”
“Tell my Lord Galmoy he will be with him in an instant, and that he is badly wounded. I myself will attend him and you need not wait.”
"Now, my dear Orme," he continued, as the man left the room with a doubtful nod, “take my arm and rely on my services; I have not forgotten yours. But act like a man of sense and forget your sermons until you are among your friends.”
De Laprade gave him his arm, and Gervase painfully descended the crooked staircase, his heart beating loudly and his hand trembling from weakness and exhaustion as he leaned on his companion.
CHAPTER III.
OF THE WAY MY LORD GALMOY SAT IN JUDGMENT.
The character of Lord Galmoy had recently gained an unenviable notoriety by his barbarous murder of Cornet Charleton and Captain Dixie at Fermoy, nor were there wanting those who asserted there were still darker stains on his character as a soldier. Such a man, Gervase well knew, would not stretch the laws of war in his favour, and it was more than likely that this savage cavalry-leader would not be disposed to treat him as a lawful enemy taken in battle, but as a rebel and a spy. For such there was a short shrift and a long rope.
When they entered the kitchen, the scene was one of the liveliest disorder and confusion. The room was filled with soldiers attired in every describable costume, some smoking by the fire, some eating and drinking, and all endeavouring to make themselves heard in a perfect babel of tongues. Hats, cloaks, and swords were piled upon the table, at the furthest end of which was seated a small knot of officers, among whom Gervase recognized the little surgeon who had attended to his wound, now busily engaged in discussing the contents of a pewter measure. At the head of the table was an officer of superior rank, and near him stood Hackett, with his hands bound behind his back and a great gash on his forehead. He had evidently been under examination, and his replies had not been satisfactory to the officer who was cross-examining him. At a glance Gervase recognized Lord Galmoy. His wig was pushed back, showing the closely-cropped black hair that came low down on the forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips trembled with passion. Yet the face was a handsome one, though marked by the signs of excess and unbridled indulgence; a face weak in its almost feminine regularity, with delicately marked eyebrows, regular nose, and rounded chin; his hands were small and white as those of a woman.
As De Laprade made his way through the troopers who turned to stare at his companion, Galmoy said to the men who were in charge of Hackett, “Do not remove him. I may have further questions to put to him. And now for this young cock who crowed loud enough to bring the barn down about our ears; I think we shall soon cut his spurs. How say you, Vicomte?”