“Why would they? what need of it? Ar'n't we down, down? ar'n't we hunted like wild beasts? is the roof left to shelter us? dare we walk the roads? dare we say 'God save ye!' when we meet, and not be tried for pass words? It 's no wonder they pity us; the hardest heart must melt sometimes.” “As to myself,” said I,--for there was no use in attempting to reason with him further,--“my every wish is with the cause as warmly as on the day we parted. But I look to France--” “Ay, and why not? I remember the time your eye flashed and your cheek grew another color when you spoke of that.” “Yes, Darby,” said I, after a pause; “and I had not been here now, but that the only means I possessed of forwarding myself in the French service are unfortunately lost to me.” “And what was that?” interrupted he, eagerly. “Some letters which the poor Captain de Meudon gave me,” said I, endeavoring to seem as much at ease as I could. Darby stooped down as I spoke, and ripping open the lining of his cloak, produced a small parcel fastened with a cord, saying, “Are these what you mean?” I opened it with a trembling hand, and to my inexpressible delight, discovered Charles's letter to the head of the Ecole Polytechnique, together with a letter of credit and two cheques on his banker. The note to his sister was not, however, among them. “How came you by these papers, Darby?” inquired I, eagerly. “I found them on the road Barton travelled, the same evening you made your escape from the yeomanry; you remember that? They were soon missed, and an orderly was sent back to search for them. Since that, I 've kept them by me; and it was only yesterday that I thought of bringing them to you, thinking you might know something about them.” “There 's a mark on this one,” said I, still gazing on the paper in my hand; “it looks like blood.” “If it is, it 's mine, then,” said Darby, doggedly. And after a pause, he continued: “The soldier galloped up the very minute I was stooping for the papers. He called out to me to give them up; but I pretended not to hear, and took a long look round to see what way I could escape where his horse could n't follow me. But he saw what I was at; and the same instant his sabre was in my shoulder, and the blood running hot down my arm. I fell on my knees; but if I did, I took this from my breast” (here he drew forth a long-barrelled rusty pistol), “and shot him through the neck.” [Illustration: Darby Exchanges Compliments with a “Sodger” 188] “Was he killed?” said I, in horror at the coolness of the recital. “Sorrow one o' me knows. He fell on his horse's mane, and I saw the beast gallop with him up the road with his arms hanging at each side of the neck. And then I heard a crash, and I saw that he was down, and the horse was dragging him by the stirrup; but the dust soon hid him from my sight. And indeed I was growing weak too; so I crept into the bushes until it was dark, and then got down to Glencree.”