Giles bound up the Puritan's wounds first, and gave him some wine, laying him on a settle by the kitchen fire. He revived a little, but Giles saw very soon that he was dying. Dick had conceived the idea that Giles would torture the trooper to gain information. Master Purvis had told him how they treated Guy Fawkes, and what a part the boot and the thumb-screw had played in similar cases. But Giles, on being questioned, said his taste did not run to displays of that kind, and Dick felt relieved, he scarcely knew why. Giles was wounded in the leg, but only slightly, the ball having passed through the flesh without injuring the bone. He bound it up, and then they drank to the King. The Puritan's face twisted in a grim smile. "I'm dying," he said slowly. "To-day me, to-morrow thee." "Scarcely so soon, I trust," Giles said, fixing a keen eye on the speaker. "Within the week," the man said. Giles gave him more wine. "We are courageous," he said, smiling, "for your people can't get into Dent. In a day, or two days, there will come our own fellows. Up will be crumpled your psalm-singing friends yonder. Within a week we shall have the King here at Dent." The Puritan, strengthened by the wine, tried to lift himself to his feet, but fell back again. He had only power to shake his fist at Giles. "Your King," he said, "is six miles off, at Lumley. Can he hear when you call him? He'll hear the guns that shall shatter these doomed walls, I tell you." He stopped. Again Giles gave him wine, but he refused it. "Your people have no guns to shatter our walls with," Giles said sternly, bending over him, and, it seemed to Dick, anxiously waiting for something the trooper might add. "Within a week," said the man almost inaudibly. "To-day me, to-morrow thee." Giles paused a moment, and then asked Dick to go up on the leads and see what the enemy were doing. "Don't come back. I'll be with you in a few moments," he said. At the end of a quarter of an hour he came up to him, and told him that the Puritan soldier was dead. "We must bury him in the court, Dick, where there are no flags, and the grass grows." So they went down and dug him a grave. Giles bore out the Puritan wrapped in a cloak, laid him in the ground, and they shovelled in the earth over him silently. Then Giles asked for a prayer-book, which Dick, wondering, found him; and Giles, standing at the foot of the new grave, bareheaded, in his fluttering rags, read the prayers from the burial service. "Perhaps he would have preferred one of his own people to do it, but I've done my best, Dick," said he at the end; "and I dare say he did his." When they were sitting on the leads in the late evening-light, Dick observed that Giles was silent, preoccupied, absent, not at all himself. "Giles," he said, and his companion started. "I'm thinking, Dickie," he said. "Will you favour me with your views on the state of the case at this juncture?"