“Now, sirrah!” he said, turning to the sergeant, “what does this mean? By whose orders or instructions were you about to hang this gentleman? Is it thus that you do your duty? While the fellow who shot down your officer has been making his escape, you have been preparing to murder an unoffending traveller whom it was your duty to protect. Had I been five minutes later, I do not doubt that I should have strung you up beside him. Good God! it is fellows like you who make me blush for my countrymen. Now, look you, the man who has made his escape must be brought in before nightfall. Should you fail to capture him you will see how I deal with men who forget that they are soldiers and act like caterans.”
“This fellow, if it please your honour----” began the sergeant.
“Silence, sirrah! Take your men and search the wood. This man must not escape, and when you return, report yourself to me at the house by the ford. Take all the men with you; I shall return alone. Stay, there is one thing more.” Here glancing hastily at Dorothy, he walked a short distance away, and in a low tone gave orders with regard to the remains of Colonel Carew, which he directed to be brought down to the post and await his instructions there. The man saluted, and giving the necessary orders with a sullen and crestfallen air, left his superior standing alone with the prisoner.
“Give me no thanks, sir,” he said, interrupting Gervase. “For I have only done for you what an Irish gentleman is bound in honour to do. Our men will do these lawless deeds, but with the party to which you belong rests the blame, having made them what they are. Till now they have been slaves with all the vices of the slave; they cannot learn the moderation and restraint of freemen in a day. However,” he continued, with a smile that lighted up his dark face, “this is no speech to address to a man who has just escaped the gallows. Miss Carew tells me you are now on your way to Londonderry seeking refuge and safety there. I do not propose to advise you, but within a fortnight the city will be in our hands, and meanwhile must undergo the dangers of a siege. We do not make war on women, and Miss Carew may rely on me to help her to a place of safety.”
“My friends are there,” said Dorothy; “I have not elsewhere to go.”
“We have indeed proposed,” said Gervase, “to take refuge in Londonderry, and since Miss Carew has lost--is alone, I know not where else she can betake herself. For myself I am indebted to you, sir, for my life, and you may dispose of me as you will; but for the lady, I would beg you to allow her to pass safely through your lines and join her friends in the city.”
“That might easily be done, but surely Dublin were safer?”
“As I have said,” answered Dorothy, “my friends are all in Londonderry, and I should prefer to share their danger.”
“Well! we shall see how it may be, but in the meantime, I shall ask you to share my hospitality, such as it is, to-night, and to-morrow we will devise some plan for your security. Miss Carew may safely place herself in the hands of Patrick Sarsfield,” and he raised his hat with the bel air that sat so easily upon him.
Gervase looked with curiosity on the great Irish leader, than whom no more notable figure and chivalrous gentleman fought in the Irish ranks, and lent lustre and honour to a somewhat tarnished cause. He was little, indeed, above the middle height, but his bold and gallant bearing gave him the appearance of being of more than the ordinary stature. His brow was frank and open, and his eyes had the clear and resolute gaze of a man accustomed to bold and perilous action--ardent, impetuous, and courageous. His speech came rapidly, and his utterance was of the clearest and most decisive. Accustomed to camps he had yet the air of a well-bred man of the world, and when he smiled his face lost the fixed and somewhat melancholy air it wore when in repose.