“How far away is the village?” “‘Bout dhree mile, zur.” “Very good. Get on that horse, which belongs to your master, ride to the village, and bring Doctor Marsden here as quickly as you can.” “Be Marster Tom ill, zur?” “Yes, he is; but mind you say nothing to any one about it. Away with you.” Armstrong led his own horse to a stall in the stables, took off saddle and bridle, then went to the well and removed the stains from his clothing as well as water would do it. Going toward the house he met the girl. “My brother says you tell him the wound is not dangerous. Is that true?” she asked. “Quite true. I’ve had a dozen worse myself,” he replied, with encouraging exaggeration. “But he will have to lie still for a month or more under your care.” “He says that is impossible, but I told him he shall do as the doctor orders, duty or no duty. I am going to send for Doctor Marsden, so pray pardon me.” “I have already sent for Doctor Marsden. I took that liberty, for it is better in such a case to lose no time.” “Oh, thank you!” The girl turned and walked to the house with him. He found the patient restless and irritable. The wan whiteness of his face had given place to rising fever. His eyes were unnaturally bright, and they followed Armstrong with a haunted look in them. His visitor said nothing, but wished the doctor would make haste. When Doctor Marsden arrived he went about his work in businesslike fashion. A physician of that day had ample experience with either gunshot or sword wounds, each being plentiful enough to arouse little curiosity respecting their origin. He brusquely turned Armstrong and the sister out of the room, after having requisitioned what materials he needed, and the two stood together in anxious and somewhat embarrassed silence on the landing, within call if either were needed. The girl was the first to speak. “I fear my brother’s case is more dangerous than you would have me suppose,” she said in tremulous voice. “Not from the wound,” he answered. “From what, then?” she asked in surprise. “I do not know. He has something on his mind. I saw that from the moment he was hurt. He is very brave, and this accident of itself would make little impression on him. My acquaintance with him is but a few hours old, yet I know he is a fearless youth. Are you aware of a mission that takes him to Oxford?” “I have not the least knowledge of it. I heard no hint of his going, and he said nothing of his journey when we spoke together.” “He told me he had expected a comrade who had failed him. Cromwell himself gave him a pass for two. He said he was to see the brother of his sweetheart, who is with the King in Oxford.” “That is very likely. The two were great friends always, even when they took opposite sides in this deplorable contest which is rending our distracted country.”