A little farther on lay another figure on his back, but as Nanny stooped over it, a lantern was flashed on her and a gruff voice called out, "Villains, ungodly churls, be you robbing the dead?" and a tall man stood darkly before them, pistol in hand. "No, sir; no, sir," sobbed out Nanny. "I am only a poor widow woman, come down to see whether my poor lad be dead or alive and wanting his mother." "What was his regiment?" demanded the soldier in a kinder voice. "Oh, sir, your honour, don't be hard on him--he couldn't help it--he went with Sir George Elmwood." "That makes no odds, woman, when a man's down," said the soldier. "Unless 'tis with the Fifth Monarchy sort, and I don't hold with them. I have an uncle and a cousin or two among the malignants, as good fellows as ever lived--no Amalekites and Canaanites--let Smite-them Derry say what he will. Elmwood! let's see--that was the troop that forded higher up, and came on Fisher's corps. This way, dame. If your son be down, you'll find him here; that is, unless he be carried into the mill or one of the houses. Most of the wounded lie there for the night, but the poor lads that are killed must be buried to-morrow. Take care, dame," as poor Nanny cried out in horror at having stumbled over a dead man's legs. He held his lantern so that she could see the face while she groaned out, "Poor soul." And thus they worked their sad way up to the buildings about the water mill. There was a shed through the chinks of which light could be seen, and at the door of which a soldier exclaimed-- "Have ye more wounded, Sam? There's no room for a dog in here. They lie as thick as herrings in a barrel." "Nay, 'tis a poor country woman come to look for her son. What's his name? Is there a malignant here of the name of Harry Lakin?" The question was repeated, and a cry of gladness, "Mother! mother!" ended in a shriek of pain in the distance within. "Aye, get you in, mother, get you in. A woman here will be all the better, be she who she may." The permission was not listened to. Nanny had already sprung into the midst of the mass of suffering towards the bloody straw where her son was lying. Steadfast, who had of course looked most anxiously at each of the still forms on the way, now ventured to say:-- "So please you, sir, would you ask after one Jephthah Kenton? On your own side, sir, in Captain Venn's troop? I am his brother." "Oh, ho! you are of the right sort, eh?" said the soldier. "Jephthah Kenton. D'ye know aught of him, Joe?" "I heard him answer to the roll call before Venn's troop went off to quarters," replied the other man. "He is safe and sound, my lad, and Venn's own orderly."