They took us away very gently, it is true, from my old house, now so wrecked and battered; they let me go back once more to press my lips to his; they even let Mary and me go to our rooms, escorted by a guard, to fetch our cloaks and hoods. But, gentle as these savages were now--far, far more so, indeed, than could ever have been believed, remembering all the stories of their cruelty that we had listened to--their firmness and determination never varied and we were as much prisoners as though we had been shut up in a fortress. Yet, at that last parting to which I was allowed to run back ere we left the room, there happened a thing that brought some joy to my poor bruised heart. For, as once more I stooped over Gerald to take, or rather give, my last kiss, I heard O'Rourke whisper low--his body lying close to my lord's: "Fear not to leave him. I was but stunned, and I doubt if he is much worse. And believe in me. He shall be my care. As soon as may be, we will follow you. Fear not." And so I went forth with them, and there was greater peace at my heart than I had dared to hope would ever come again. All that day we rode towards the forests that lie at the foot of the mountains and, there having been enough horses in my stables, as well as that of O'Rourke, none of us were without one. Ahead of all went Anuza--the Indians themselves being all mounted on horses they had obtained from the village--speaking no word to any one, but shrouded in his impenetrable Indian calm; behind him followed a score or so of his warriors, then we, the prisoners, came, and then the remainder of the band. Speech was not forbidden us--indeed, there was no enemy for our captors to fear if Pomfret was destroyed and all the dwellers thereabouts either driven forth or massacred--and so we conversed in whispers with each other and discussed in melancholy the sad fate that had befallen us all. "Yet," said Mr. Kinchella who rode by Mary and me, "I cannot fear the worst. The chief's behaviour is not that of the Indian who is taking his victims to a dreadful death. The denunciation of that scoundrel by Mary has caused a terrible revolution in his mind; he seems, indeed, more like one who is carrying witnesses against another than one who is leading forth prisoners." "And, reverend sir," said Buck, who rode close by, "what's more is that the chief doesn't stomach the business he is about. He knew well enough that neither his lordship nor the captain was badly wounded, and he left 'em there to escape as best they might--any way he gave them a chance." "Yet he said that he did so," I replied with a sob, "because they must die."