'Victory?' he repeated, in his slow way—'what victory? Give me a drink of cider, and if there is a morsel of victual in the house——'
I hurried to bring him both cold meat and bread and a cup full of cider. He began to eat and drink.
'Why,' he said, talking between his mouthfuls, 'if the worst comes 'tis better to face it with a——Your health, Madam': he finished the cider. 'Another cup, Sister, if you love me: I have neither eaten nor drunk since yesterday at seven o'clock, or thereabouts.' He said no more until he had cleared the dish of the gammon and left nothing but the bone. This he dropped into his pocket. 'When the provisions are out,' he said wisely, 'there is good gnawing in the shankbone of a ham.' Then he drank up the rest of the cider and looked around. 'Victory? Did someone speak of victory?'
'Yes—where was it? Tell us quick!'
'Well, there was in some sort a victory. But the King had it.'
'What mean you, Barnaby? The King had it?—what King?'
'Not King Monmouth. That King is riding away to find some port and get some ship, I take it, which will carry him back to Holland.'
'Barnaby, what is it? Oh! what is it? Tell us all.'
'All there is to tell, Sister, is that our army is clean cut to pieces, and that those who are not killed or prisoners are making off with what speed they may. As for me, I should have thrown away my coat and picked up some old duds and got off to Bristol and so aboard ship and away, but for Dad.'