‘Well, sir,’ said the farmer, ‘I’m sure I’ll do my best to keep it safe, and I hope as how you’ll come back to claim it; for your honour has been a civil gentleman to us, and has kept us from being eaten up by them soldiers, and I’m sure we all wish you might come back safe.’ ‘Thanks, my good friends,’ was the reply. ‘And now I’ll go to bed and get a few hours’ sleep.’ The next morning he was up and away almost before the proverbial cockcrow. After his departure, Dimbell and his wife spent some time in searching for a secure hiding-place for the money intrusted to their care. That day, little work was done in the village, for the wild sounds of war came fitfully on the air as the incidents of the epoch-making battle of Naseby succeeded one another through the day. Some adventurous youths, who had followed the Royalist troops on their march, brought back fragmentary tidings of fierce strife and strange confusions, and of how they had seen the king’s carriage, and the king himself sitting in it. As the afternoon wore away, tumultuous bands of men came hurrying through the village and made with all speed for Market-Harborough. Their numbers increased, until it became evident that the Royalist army was in full retreat. At last, when the main bodies of both horse and foot had passed, and only wounded stragglers were to be seen, there came riding into the village a compact body of stern horsemen, who speedily occupied every point of vantage and took prisoners all the Royalist soldiers they found. The post was now in the hands of the Parliamentary army, and it was not long before trembling and terrified Mistress Dimbell was bidden to prepare accommodation for two officers in her house. The next day, fresh dispositions were made, and the village was left in comparative quiet, only a dozen soldiers remaining to prevent communications with the Royalist army. The third day after, as John Sprayby was returning home from some rustic occupation in the dusk of the evening, he saw a strange figure crawling along under the shadow of the hedge. At first, it seemed like some beast; but as he drew nearer, he heard human groans proceeding from it. Evidently some wounded soldier was dragging himself painfully along, and John went towards him to see if he could render any help. He then saw that the poor man was crawling on his hands and one foot, the other foot being broken and crushed. Approaching still closer, he felt a shock of surprise and grief as he recognised Captain Melford. ‘Why, Master Melford,’ said he, ‘is that you, sir? Oh! what a pity! Here, lean on me, sir;’ and the good-hearted John blubbered lustily as he knelt down and strove to ease the poor man’s pain. The captain was so exhausted that he could hardly speak, but he held John’s hand tightly as he said feebly: ‘How far is it to Mistress Dimbell’s? Are there any soldiers in the village?’