“Ah, me! You plucked me from the fire but to burn yourself. You are a man of passion rather, and you overbear your foolish maid. And are you ruined, dear? I would be joyful to know it that I might work for you and die for you.” He laughed a little. “Why,” said he, “the house is gone, to be sure, and all my trouble with it, I hope. And I have that of the vagabond in me that I think I feel the freer for the loss of so responsible a property. But I have enough for us yet, maybe, to make out life withal; and we will e’en look about us, Betty, for Mr. Rogers’s cot by a ‘willowy brook.’” “And will the gentleman let it to us?” “That he will, I swear. For I have met him at ‘Whitelaw’s,’ with his dry face sunk in a green tabinet kerchief of the nicest mode, that meant more to him, I’ll warrant, than all the green pastorals he ever invented. But have I slept the night through, my wench; and is our hearth cold that was to have leapt to my wife’s home-coming? It was piled too high, Betty, and I have given you a roasting welcome. And what are we to do now, or how escape from these beggarly quarters?” “Why, for shame, are you fit to move? But Sir David Blythewood is abroad already with the men, to see if they cannot fashion a raft, or sled is it called, of planks to draw over the freezing snow and carry us all to his own great house.” “He is an admirable creature. There--give me your soft shoulder, girl, and I will talk with my eyes shut, for my brain spins like a top. Where are the rest? And pray God all are sound!” “Ah! You don’t remember--the poor captain!” “Luvaine? Is he hurt?” “He cannot live--not many hours more. Sir David and I have watched with him all night. He has suffered, but he is at peace now, for he is dead, poor soul, below the waist. ’Twas in shooting at the wicked men that tracked us through the tunnel that he made the explosion, for Mr. Brander says they would bring powder along with them in a barrel, and----” “Brander? Is the rogue spared, then, when an honest soldier falls?” “He is sore wounded, but he will recover, perhaps.” “An idle rally that shall earn him the gallows. And so they came by the hole after all, and were caught in their own springe? He hath a soldier’s death; and tell me that is all, Betty.” “Ah! no--the girl.” “I remember--I remember that. She sprang from the roof.” “Yes.” “And she is dead? A pitiful account for a dump of red crystal. How much blood yet will it absorb before its lust is quenched? My heart cries for the unhappy child. But something comes to me, Betty, that I think I have struggled for through a fever of hours. You must go----” “No, no! Oh, don’t bid me away from you!” “Tush, you simple! ’Tis but a yard or two, and to ask of Dennis the bag the poor natural threw down, for I heard the women cry it.” “I will ask him. He is with the captain yonder.”