“Hold up, sir,” I said. “My house is near by; let me help you into it.”
“He has fainted!” cried Rose. “Oh, Will, carry him into the house. I will run before to warn them.”
She ran on, and I lifted the man in my arms and bore him across the orchard, his horse following behind me like a dog. I laid the man down on the great settle and looked at him. He had indeed fainted, and there was blood on his clothes and on my hands where I had touched him. A young man he was, of handsome countenance, and dressed like a Royalist officer. I wondered while my mother was attending to him what he was doing in such a plight.
“He is coming round,” said my mother. And presently he opened his eyes and looked at us.
“Do not speak, good sir,” said my mother. “You are amongst friends. Lie still and let us do what we can for you.”
And she began to cut away his garments to get at the wound, which she found to be a shot in the left shoulder, just high enough to have missed the heart. This she dressed and bandaged with rags and soft linen, so that the bleeding stopped and a little colour began to come into the man’s white face.
“Rest you there, sir,” said my mother. “We will not move you yet awhile, and we will put cushions under your shoulders to relieve the hard couch.”
The man shook his head sadly.
“I thank you, mistress,” said he, “warmly and truly, for you are a good Samaritan. But rest I cannot, for I must on and away at once. If only I had another horse!”
“Nay, sir,” said my mother, “you cannot go forward tonight except at peril of your life. Be content to rest.”
“I cannot, mistress,” said he, trying to rise. “Even if I die for it I must on. I am losing time here now. Let me up and away.”
“Sir,” said I, “I would not keep you for a moment against your will, but I tell you plainly that if you mount again you will be a dead man ere you have ridden half a mile.”
He looked at me with despairing eyes when I said this, and groaned sadly.
“Can I do aught to serve you?” I said.
He shook his head, but looked searchingly at me. “I do not know where I am,” he said presently.
“You are in the house of William Dale, yeoman,” I said. “I am he. If I can help you, tell me how.”
Then I bent lower and said in a low voice: “You look like a Royalist; we are all Royalists here, and you may trust us.”
“Ah!” said he. “Is that the truth, Master Dale? Do not mock me. I am near death, I believe.”
“It is the truth,” I answered. “See, yonder young lady is the daughter of Philip Lisle, who holds office under the King—you may know him?”
“Indeed I do, Master Dale,” said he. “Well, I trust myself to your kindness, and more than myself. Look you—I am carrying despatches to the Marquis of Newcastle at York. He must have them tonight or ’twill go ill with him. And here I am, winged in this way by some vile padfoot five miles back. What can I do?”
But I knew what was to be done ere ever he had finished speaking.
“Be at peace, sir,” I said: “I will carry the despatches to Lord Newcastle. Tell me what to do, and give me the packet and let me go. It is now close upon eleven o’clock: I shall be in York by two.”
“But you must avoid the enemy,” he said. “They are surrounding him, and you will have your work set. Well, here is the packet—prithee keep it safely. Say that Captain Trevor was bringing it and was shot on the highway. And so farewell, and—”
He had fainted again from overexertion, and my mother and Rose came forward to help him. I put the packet into my coat and went out. My horse, a great beast that could carry me a whole day without tiring, was in his stall, and uttered a little cry of joy as I put my hand on his neck. I lighted the stable lantern and saddled and bridled him quickly. And then a thought struck me, and I took the saddle off again and pushed the packet between the leather and the padding. If I was caught they would search me thoroughly, but my horse’s saddle might perchance escape.
I led Captain out into the paddock and went down to the house door and looked inside for a moment. My mother still bent over the wounded man. I beckoned Rose to me.
“Goodbye, my dear,” I said, and kissed her. “Kiss my mother and Lucy for me.”
And so I went out into the July night, the clasp of my sweetheart’s arms and the pressure of her lips fresh in my mind. I opened the gate and led Captain on to the broad stretch of turf that runs alongside the highway. The gate swung to with a little clash as I put foot in stirrup and leapt into the saddle. “On, Captain, good horse!” I whispered, and away we shot out into the darkness like an arrow out of a bow. The hedges and trees flew by me: I turned in the saddle and saw the last gleam of the farmhouse lights through the orchard trees.
How we rode along that night! The great horse might have known what mission he was upon. I can still feel the grand sweep of his legs as he went forward, the regular, smooth movement of his gallop as he tucked his great thighs under him for every stride. On and away we went past the
