"Well, never mind that. You have made me a prisoner. What are you going to do next?"

"Well, I think I am going to pick up that pistol, wherever it lies."

"Bah!" cried the prisoner. "I only did it to scare you off. It isn't loaded."

"Oh!" said Waller. "Well, that's one to you. I couldn't tell."

"What are you going to do with me now?" said the lad haughtily. "Chain me?"

"Chain you!" said Waller, laughing, "why, you are not a dog. I am not going to do anything with you. I don't want you."

"No; but you want the blood-money, I suppose."

"There you go again," cried Waller pettishly. "Chains and blood! I say, do you know what you are talking about? Blood-money?"

"Yes; the reward for taking me."

"Reward! For taking you?"

"Yes, where are your bloodhounds?"

"Well, you are a rum chap," said Waller, laughing. "You talk like a fellow in a romance. We have no bloodhounds. We have a pointer, a water-spaniel, and a retriever. Why, what sort of an idea have you got in your head about bloodhounds hunting you?"

"I--I meant the soldiers," said the poor fellow faintly: and his eyes began to close. "Let me sit up, please. I think I'm dying."

CHAPTER THREE.

ON PAROLE.

The words sounded so real, and there was such a deathly aspect in the pallor and the cold perspiration that started upon the prostrate lad's ghastly-looking face, that Waller was convinced at once, and quickly rising from where he sat he bent over and raised the lad's head a little, but only to lay it down again as the poor fellow fell back quite insensible.

But the attack pa.s.sed off as quickly as it had come, and, relieved by the removal of the heavy pressure upon his chest, he began to breathe more freely, his eyes opened slowly in a wild stare of wonder as if he could not comprehend where he was, and then, as his senses fully returned, a faint smile dawned upon his thin lips.

"Don't laugh at me," he said. "It was like a great girl. I must have fainted dead away."

"Yes, you did, and no mistake," said Waller. "Come down to the stream and have a drink of water.--If I let you get up you won't try to escape?"

"No," said the lad bitterly, as he raised one hand, and let it fall again heavily amongst the bracken. "I am as weak as a child."

"Yes," said Waller, "you are. Now, look here; you remember what you said about the honour of a gentleman?"

The lad bowed his head slightly.

"You are a gentleman?"

"Yes."

"Then give me your word that you won't try to escape."

"I will not try to escape. I could not if I wished. I tell you it is all over now, I am taken at last."

"I say," cried Waller, gazing at the poor fellow anxiously, "why are you here? What have you done?" And then slowly, and in almost a whisper, as he glanced sharply round for the pistol, "You haven't killed anybody, have you?"

"Killed! No! What have I done? Nothing that should disgrace a gentleman. Nothing but fight for the cause of my lawful king."

Waller looked at the lad curiously, for his words and the wildness of his looks again brought up the idea that he was a little off his head.

"But I say," he said, "if you were fighting, as you call it, for your lawful king, why should the soldiers be after you?"

"Because I am an enemy--a follower of the Stuarts."

"Oh," said Waller, in a puzzled tone, as the lad slowly and painfully rose and then s.n.a.t.c.hed at something to save himself, for he reeled.

"Here, I say, you are weak," cried Waller, saving him from falling, "lean on me. The stream is just over there," and he led his feeble adversary down the slope to the nearest opening where he could lie down and reach over the bank to drink from the clear water in the most ancient and natural way--that is, by lowering his lips till they touched the surface.

The lad drank deeply, and then rose to a sitting position, making no effort to stand.

"Ah," he said faintly, "I feel better now. There," he went on, "I suppose you didn't know the soldiers were here?"

Waller shook his head, content to listen.

"They are; and you know all about the trouble--about the Stuarts making another stand for their rights?"

"Oh, not much," said Waller. "I have read, of course, about the Old Pretender and the Young Pretender."

"Pretenders!" said the lad bitterly. "Those who fought for their rights as heirs to the British Crown. They are at rest, but an heir still lives, and it is his fortunes we follow."

"Oh," said Waller thoughtfully. "Yes, I have heard of him--in France,"

and he looked more curiously in the other's eyes as he asked his next question, thinking the while of the slight accent in the lad's speech.

"But you have not come from there?"

"Yes," said the lad quietly, and with a bitter tone of sadness in his words; "we crossed over from Cherbourg--oh, it must be a month ago."

"We?" said Waller inquiringly.

"Yes; I came with my father and four other gentlemen to Lymington."

"And are they here in the forest?"

The lad looked at him wonderingly.

"No," he said; "they were all hunted down like wild beasts--treated as spies."

"And where are they now?" said Waller eagerly.

"Who knows?" replied the lad sadly. "Lingering in prison, if they have not already been shot. Quick! Tell me," he continued, catching Waller by the arm. "My father! Have you heard anything about him?"