“And you are Colonel Sarsfield?” Dorothy inquired. “Then we are friends, for you were the friend of my aunt Lady Bellasis.”
“Truly she was my very good friend, and her son Will--your cousin, I presume--was my dear crony and companion-in-arms. We served together during Monmouth´s campaign, and I might almost say that he died in my arms at Taunton. You are then the Dorothy of whom I heard him speak. I think his death broke his mother´s heart. It is strange that we should meet here, but life is made up of strange things; we should wonder at nothing. Now, Mr. Orme, I shall give the lady my arm, and we will see whether even here in the desert they cannot furnish us with a bottle of wine, that we may drink to peace and a settlement of differences. Only I should like to say this: I ask no questions, and look upon you only as Miss Carew´s companion and protector; I expect that you will close your eyes to anything that you may see, and ever after be silent on the matter.”
“I hope,” answered Gervase, “I know better than to take advantage of your great kindness. I shall observe your instructions to the letter.”
“´Tis very well. Come, Miss Carew,” Sarsfield said, extending his hand, “this hath been a melancholy journey for you, and henceforth I wish you happier fortune. I have given orders regarding the interment of your kinsman, and will spare you all the pain I can.”
Dorothy thanked him with a look, and was silent. Beside the river was a farm-house which was evidently used as a military station, for before the door a number of dragoons--perhaps a dozen--were gathered in small groups, and several horses were picketed in the enclosure which had formerly been used as a garden.
As they entered the house they were saluted by the strong odour of tobacco-smoke. A man was engaged in cooking at the open hearth, and another was seated on a chair hard by, watching the operation as he smoked his pipe in silence, and beat a tattoo with his heels upon the earthen floor. The latter was a remarkable-looking man in every way. He was dressed in a plain red coat, with a tangled weather-beaten wig hanging down at full length. He wore a faded beaver with a narrow brim, and had a dirty yellow-coloured cravat tied carelessly round his neck. His legs were very long, his face was full of freckles, and his nose was tilted up in what had been a good-humoured fashion but for the heavy and forbidding expression of his mouth. As they came in he did not rise but merely removed his pipe from his lips.
“How now?” he asked.
“My special mission hath already borne fruit, Colonel Luttrel,” said Sarsfield stiffly. “This lady is the kinswoman of a late very dear friend of mine, and your dragoons have used her with the scantest courtesy.”
“The young lady hath reason to be thankful ´tis no worse, for they cannot stand the sight of a petticoat, and they could not be expected to know of the relationship. We´ll trust to the supper, which is nearly ready, to cure her wounded feelings.”
“This lady is my friend, sir,” said Sarsfield, with a frown.