"Right you bees, theer. But then--the reward, Winny! If us only get safe inside, it ought be worth mor'n the profits on a twelvemonth o' cadgin'. Don't ye think 'twill?" "Coorse I do." She spoke in all sincerity. Whatever the money reward Jerky Jack was looking forward to, the woman had another in view, also contingent on their safe arrival inside the city,--one she thought worth far more than money. For there she would, or should, meet a man she had not seen for months, though ardently longing to see him. Scarce necessary to say, Rob Wilde was the individual, when it was known that the erst deer-stealer of Dean Forest was now a soldier--first sergeant of a troop forming part of the force then garrisoning Bristol. "Yee-up, Jinkum?" cried Jack, encouraged by his sister's words, at the same time conscious as she of the danger alluded to, and the probability of their yet encountering obstruction. It was just after the capture of Cirencester by Prince Rupert; a massacre, sparing neither man nor woman, friend nor foe; they who survived it having been carried, or rather dragged, off to Oxford in triumphal train, a feast for the eyes of the King. To meet it, he, with his _entourage_ of courtiers and sycophants, sallied forth from the city of colleges--but not of education or manners--supreme capital of conceit and snobbery, almost as much then as now. They were met miles out, coming from Witney, by hundreds of half-naked people, shivering in the chill frost of a winter's day, weary and footsore, covered with mud from the roads they had been driven over as cattle to market! An impartial historian, or certainly not one who favours the Parliament, thus records the cruel episode:--"Tying them in pairs, they were marched to Oxford. The King, with many nobles and commanders and people of the city, went forth to witness their arrival. They formed a long line upon the road, escorted by two troops of cavalry. Among them were gentlemen and ministers, and a mixed multitude of soldiers, husbandmen, and townsmen. The ways were foul with the trampling of horses; the captives had gone sometimes knee deep in mire, beaten and driven along like jaded beasts, all of them weary, and many of them wounded. In this wretched train appeared a ghastly figure, naked, and, because he was unable to march with the rest, mounted upon the bare back of a horse. His form was manly and handsome; though exhausted, he sat upright with an undaunted air, and the remarkable fairness of his bodily complexion was heightened, where it was not concealed, by gore from many a gaping wound. As he drew near the King, a brawling woman cried aloud to him--`Ah, you traitorous rogue! You are well enough served.' He turned upon her a scornful look, retorted a term of base reproach, sunk from his seat, and expired."