'That, Sister, is what I am trying to find out. How to lie snug with a couple of women and a wounded man who cannot move? 'Twas madness of the poor old Dad to bring thee to the camp, Child. For now we cannot--any of us--part company, and if we stay together 'twill maybe bring our necks to the halter.' 'Leave us, Barnaby,' I said. 'Oh! leave us to do what we can for the poor sufferer, and save thyself.' 'Ta, ta, ta, Sister--knowest not what thou sayest. Let me consider. There may be some way of safety. As for provisions, now: we have the basket full--enough for two days say--what the plague did Dad, the poor old man, want with women when fighting was on hand? When the fighting is done, I grant you, women, with the tobacco and punch, are much in place. Those are pretty songs, now, that I used to sing about women and drink.' 'Barnaby, is this a time to be talking of such things as drink and singing?' 'All times are good. Nevertheless, all company is not fitting. Wherefore, Sis, I say no more.' 'Barnaby, knowest thou aught of Robin? Or of Humphrey?' 'I know nothing. They may be dead; they may be wounded and prisoners; much I fear, knowing the spirit of the lads, that both are killed. Nay, I saw Humphrey before the fight, and he spoke to me----' 'What did Humphrey say?' 'I asked why he hung his head and looked so glum, seeing that we were at last going forth to meet the King's army. This I said because I knew Humphrey to be a lad of mettle, though his arm is thin and his body is crooked. "I go heavy, Barnaby," he said, speaking low lest others should hear, "because I see plainly that, unless some signal success come to us, this our business will end badly." Then he began to talk about the thousands who were to have been raised all over the country; how he himself had brought to the Duke promises of support gathered all the way from London to Bradford Orcas, and how his friends in Holland even promised both men and arms; but none of these promises had been kept; how Dad had brought promises of support from all the Nonconformists of the West, but hardly any, save at Taunton, had come forward; and how the army was melting away, and no more recruits coming in. And then he said that he had been the means of bringing so many to the Duke that if they died their deaths would lie upon his conscience. And he spoke lovingly of Robin and of thee, Sister. And so we parted, and I saw him no more. As for what he said, I minded it not a straw. Many a croaker turns out in the long run to be brave in the fight. Doubtless he is dead; and Robin, too. Both are dead. I take it, Sis, thou hast lost thy sweetheart. Cry a little, my dear,' he added kindly; ''twill ease the pain at thy heart. 'Tis natural for a woman to cry.' 'I cannot cry, Barnaby: I wish I could. The tears rise to my eyes, but my throat is dry.' 'Try a prayer or two, Sister. 'Twas wont to comfort the heart of my mother when she was in trouble.'