"What for?" cried the boy.

"To make sure that the enemy did not surprise us."

"Ah, you are a good chap," said the boy, pressing his wrist.

"And I am very tired, and when you talk my head begins to go round too."

"Does it? Well, then, I won't say much; only I have got this into my head, and something seems to make me tell you."

"Leave it till to-morrow morning, then."

"No; it must come now, for fear I should forget it. What you have to do is to go to your uncle like an officer and a gentleman--"

"Punch, Punch!"

"All right; I have just done. Pistols like an officer--same as they uses when they fights duels. Then you walks straight up to him, with your head in the air, and you says to him, 'You don't desarve it, sir, but I won't take any dirty advantage of you; so there's the pistols,'

you says. 'Which will you choose? For we are going to settle this little affair.' Then I'll tell you how it is. Old Pat Reilly--who was a corporal once, before he was put back into the ranks--I heerd him telling our chaps over their pipes how he went with the doctor of the regiment he was in to carry his tools to mend the one of them who was hurt. He called it--he was an Irishman, you know--a jool; and he said when you fight a jool, and marches so many paces, and somebody--not the doctor, but what they calls the second--only I think Pat made a mistake, because there can't be two seconds; one of them must be a first or a third--"

"There, Punch, tell me the rest to-morrow."

"No," said the boy obstinately; but his voice was growing weaker. "I have just done, and I shall be better then, for what I wanted to say will have left off worrying me. Let's see what it was. Oh, I know.

You stands opposite to your uncle, turns sideways, raises your pistol, takes a good aim at him, and shoots him dead. Now then, what do you say to that?"

"That I don't want to shoot him dead, Punch."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Why, isn't he your enemy?"

"I don't know."

"Then I suppose that won't do."

"I'm afraid not, Punch."

"Then you must wait a little longer till you get promoted for bravery in the field. You will be Captain Gray then, and then you can go to him, and look him full in the face, and smile at him as if you felt that he was no better than a worm, and ask him what he thinks of that."

"What! Of my captain's uniform, Punch?"

"No, I mean you smiling down at him as if he wasn't worth your notice."

"Ah, that sounds better, Punch."

"Then, you think that will do?"

"Yes."

"Then, now I will go to sleep."

"Ah, and get better, Punch."

"Oh yes, I am going to get better now."

With a sigh of satisfaction, the boy closed his eyes, utterly exhausted, and lay breathing steadily and well, while Pen stood leaning over him waiting till he felt sure that the boy was asleep; and then, as he laid his hand lightly upon his patient's brow, a sense of hopefulness came over him on feeling that he was cool and calm.

"There are moments," he thought to himself, "when it seems as if I ought to give up as prisoners, for it is impossible to go on like this. Poor fellow, he wants suitable food, and think how I will I don't know what I could do to get him better food. I should be to blame if I stand by and see him die for want of proper nourishment." And it seemed to him that his depressing thoughts had affected his eyes, for the cabin had grown dull and gloomy, and his despair became more deep.

"Oh, it's no use to give way," he muttered. "There must be food of some kind to be found if I knew where to forage for it. Why not kill one of the kids?"

He stopped short in his planning and took a step forward, to pa.s.s round the rough heather pallet, thus bringing him out of the shadow into the light and face to face with a girl of about seventeen or eighteen, who was resting one hand upon the doorpost and peering in at the occupant of the rough bed, but who now uttered a faint cry and turned to run.

CHAPTER TEN.

TALKING IN HIS SLEEP.

"No, no! Pray, pray, stop!" cried Pen, dashing out after his strange visitor, who was making for the edge of the nearest patch of wood.

The imploring tone of his words had its effect, though the tongue was foreign that fell upon the girl's ears, and she stopped slowly, to look back at him; and, then as it seemed to dawn upon her what her pursuer was, she slowly raised her hands imploringly towards him, the gesture seeming to speak of itself, and say, "Don't hurt me! I am only a helpless girl."

Then she looked up at him in wonder, for Pen raised his in turn, as he exclaimed, "Don't run away. I want your help."

The girl shook her head.

"_Ingles_."

"_Si, si, Ingles, Ingles_. Don't go. I won't hurt you."

"_Si, si, Ingles_," said the girl with some animation now.

"Ah, she understands that!" thought Pen; and then aloud, "Help!

Wounded!" and he pointed at the open door.

The girl looked at him, then at the door, and then shook her head.

"Can you understand French?" cried Pen eagerly; and the girl shook her head again.

"How stupid to ask like that!" muttered Pen; and then aloud, "Help!

Wounded."

The girl shook her head once more, and then started and struggled slightly as Pen caught her by the arm.

"Don't fight," he cried. "Help! help!" And he gesticulated towards the hut as he pointed through the door at the dimly seen bed, while the girl held back at arm's-length, gazing at him wildly, until a happy thought struck him, for he recalled the words that he had more than once heard used by the villagers while he and his fellows were foraging.

"_El pano_," he cried; "_el pano_--bread, bread!" And he pointed to the dimly seen boy and then to his own mouth.