“I reck not,” replied the boy: “you have slain my father and my brothers, and now you have slain my last and only friend. Do as you will with me—only for my mother’s sake, let it not be a shameful death; and let my sister Eleanor have my poor Leonillo. And let me, too, leave this gold with the priest of Alton, that my true-hearted loving Adam may have fit burial and masses.” “I tell thee, boy, he is in no more need of a burial than thou or I. I touched him warily. Here—his face more to the air.” And the stranger bent down, and with his powerful strength lifted the heavy form of Adam, so that the boy could better support him. Then taking some wine from the hunting-flask slung to his own shoulder, he applied some drops to the bruise. The smart produced signs of life, and the hunter put his flask into the boy’s hand, saying, “Give him a draught, and then—” he put his finger to his own lips, and stood somewhat apart. Adam opened his eyes, and made some inarticulate murmurs; then, the liquor being held to his lips, he drank, and with fresh vigour raised himself. “The boy!—where is he? What has chanced? Is it you, Sir? Where is the rogue? Fled, the villain? We shall have the Prince upon us next! I must after him, and cut his story short! Your hand, Sir!” “Nay, Adam—your hurt!” “A broken head! Tush, ’tis naught! Here, your hand! Canst not lend a hand to help a man up in your own service?” he added testily, as stiff and dizzy he sat up and tried to rise. “You might have sent an arrow to stop his traitorous tongue; but there is no help in you!” he added, provoked at seeing a certain embarrassment about the youth. “Desert me at this pinch! It is not like his father’s son!” and he was sinking back, when at sight of the hunter he stumbled eagerly to his feet, but only to stagger against a tree. “You are my prisoner!” said the calm deep voice. “Well and good,” said Adam surlily. “But let the lad go free: he is a yeoman’s son, who came but to bear me company.” “And learn thy trade? Goodly lessons in falling unawares on the King’s huntsmen, and sending arrows after them! Fair breeding, in sooth!” repeated the stranger, standing with his arms crossed upon his mighty breadth of chest, and looking at Adam with a still, grave, commanding blue eye, that seemed to pierce him and hold him down, as it were, and a countenance whose youthfulness and perfect regularity of feature did but enhance its exceeding severity of expression. “You know the meed of robbery and murder?” “A halter and a bough,” said Adam readily. “Well and good; but I tell thee that concerns not the boy—since,” he added bitterly, “he is too meek and tender so much as to lift a hand in his own cause! He has never crossed the laws.” “I understand you, friend,” said the hunter: “he is a valued charge—maybe the son of one of the traitor barons. Take my advice—yield him to the King’s justice, and secure your own pardon.”