“Oh! that was no great matter. Putting on a bold face, as though no man had a right to question me, I even saluted all that I met, inquiring what way lay Butler´s command, as one having urgent business there. It passed very well till a meddlesome captain of horse must needs take me under his protection, and know more of my business than I had a mind he should. I lied boldly and vehemently, which is a matter permissible by the laws of war, and having brought me hard by our lines at the Windmill, I even knocked him down with my fist, and ran for it as fast as my legs would carry me. They might have brought me down with their muskets had they taken time to aim, but though I heard the bullets singing about my ears, never a one touched me, and here I am in no very ill condition, after eating your supper and thanking Heaven for a merciful deliverance. And now let me hear how things fell out with you.” Gervase told his story with little circumlocution, but dwelling, unconsciously, more than seemed necessary in a plain statement of facts, on the courage and devotion of Dorothy Carew, a thing which brought a twinkle into Macpherson´s eyes and a grave smile to his lips. Indeed, from the beginning to the end the adventure was hers, and the young soldier was only the companion who had shared her fortune in a humble way. He told how she had won the heart of Sarsfield; how she had broken down the boorish ill-will of Luttrel; and how she had carried herself throughout with a patience and fortitude that a man might envy; and all the while Macpherson watched him under his half-closed eyelids with the same grave smile upon his face. It was evident he was no less interested in the speaker than in the narrative, and when it was done he rose up and placed his hand on Gervase´s shoulder, and bade him forget that he had spoken a word in her disparagement. “God hath made few women like her, my lad,” he went on, “and had I met such another in my youth, I might not now have been the homeless vagrant that I am. Loyal she is and true, if the face and the eye have any meaning, and her voice hath a tender ring in it that might well touch a man´s heart, even if he be an old fool like myself--which indeed I think I am growing. I have come to think of you, Gervase Orme, as a son, I who never had wife or child of my own, and I think here is a woman who might make your life happier than mine has ever been.”