Then the four of them withdrew into another apartment, leaving me there with Stott and the troopers. “Thy foot will not pain thee much longer, young man!” says Stott. “Faith,” says I, conceiving a great dislike to him all of a sudden, “’tis well for you, sir, that I am unable to use it!” And there might have been a pretty row between us but that Sir Thomas and the others came back and took their seats. I glanced at Sands, and knew what was coming. Fairfax looked at me with some kindness as he began to speak. But there was naught kind about his words. I had deserted my commission, and thereby caused great annoyance to the Parliament; I had joined myself with the Royalists, and had brought about the death of a useful officer, and it was impossible that my serious offence could be overlooked. And so I was to be shot at daybreak of the following morning. I think I got to my feet and bowed to him when he made an end. And I must have winced with the pain that every movement gave me, for he looked at me with some consideration. “I am sorry that you suffer,” says he. “I will send my surgeon to see to your hurt.” “I am greatly your debtor, sir,” says I. And so we parted with much politeness on both sides, and the troopers helped me out, and presently installed me in a neighbouring cottage, with Merciful Wiggleskirk as a guard, and my own thoughts for amusement. Chapter VIII Of my Surprising Deliverance from Death, my last Meeting with Anthony Dacre, and of certain Notable Passages ’twixt Mistress Alison and Myself. I. The place in which they installed me to wait for my end was a little cottage some fifty yards away from the farmhouse, where Fairfax had set up his quarters, and stood in an angle of the fields that lie ’twixt Skinner Lane and the hamlet of Tanshelf. It afforded but the most indifferent accommodation, there being naught in the way of furniture but a chair or two, a pallet bed in one corner and a deal table, but in my then condition these things were more than sufficient for my wants, and I made no complaint of them. Nay, when Merciful Wiggleskirk offered me some apology for the poor quarters he had brought me to I checked him, and pointed out that to a man who has but some sixteen hours to live a cottage is as fine as a palace. “Why, sure,” says he, “death is the greatest leveller--but is there naught that we can do for your honour? Your honour,” he says, giving me a sly look, “is such a generous rewarder----” “Friend,” says I, “I verily believe that I have not even a penny-piece upon me. As for reward then----” “I meant you to understand,” says he, “that I had already received my reward, and was minded to do still more to deserve what you have already bestowed upon me. So if there is aught that you lack----”