Staunchly as Walter's troopers maintained the defence, they were sorely
pressed, for the enemy still outnumbered them by three to one. Several
times the Hessians almost forced their way in, at one or other of the
windows, but each time Walter, who kept four men with him as a reserve,
rushed to the assistance of the defenders of the windows and drove them
back; but this could not last. The defenders were hard pressed at several
points, and Walter, feeling sure that his father would be up in a very
few minutes, called the men off from their posts and stationed them on
the staircase.
With shouts of triumph, the Hessians burst in. The hall was filled with a
crowd of furious soldiers, who hurled themselves like a wave at the
defenders of the staircase. All the pistols had long since been emptied,
and they fought sword to sword. Walter had detached five of his little
party to hold the top of the other staircase, should the assailants try
to force a passage there; and he had but ten men now, and several of
these severely wounded, to hold the staircase.
Great as the advantage that the position gave the defenders, they were
forced up step by step, and Walter began to fear that he would be driven
to the landing before succour came, when a crowd of figures suddenly
burst in at the hall door, and above the cracking of pistols, which at
once arose, he heard his father's voice:
"Down with the murdering dogs! No quarter!"
Taken wholly by surprise, ignorant of the force by which they were
attacked, and taken between two bodies of enemies, the Hessians turned to
fly. Walter and his men at once pressed down upon them, while the
newcomers fell upon them with fury.
There was but little resistance, for the Hessians thought only of flight.
Some burst through their assailants and gained the door; more fled down
the passages, and escaped by the windows through which they had entered;
but more than thirty of them fell in the hall.
The instant resistance was over, Captain Davenant ran out with his men to
secure the horses. A few of the Hessians, who had escaped from the front
door, had jumped on the backs of the nearest animals and ridden off. The
rest had fled on foot, and the exulting troopers counted seventy-two
horses remaining in their hands. Captain Davenant at once returned to the
house.
"Where are you, Walter?" he shouted; but there was no answer. Getting
more light, Captain Davenant searched hastily among the numerous bodies
scattered in the hall, and soon came upon Walter, who was lying,
insensible, just at the foot of the stairs. The excitement had supported
him so long as the defence had to be continued; but, as soon as succour
appeared, and the assailants retreated, he had stumbled forward with his
men, and had fallen insensible from loss of blood at the foot of the
stairs. Captain Davenant hastily examined him.
"Thank God," he said to Larry, who had smuggled himself over with the
second detachment, "he has no other wound but this on the shoulder, and
has only fainted from loss of blood! Run upstairs, and snatch a sheet
from one of the beds. We will soon make some bandages."
Larry did as he was ordered. Slips were torn off the sheets, and, after
cutting Walter's coat and shirt from his shoulder, Captain Davenant bound
and bandaged up the wound. In the meantime, Larry had got some spirits
from the buffet in the dining room, and a spoonful or two were poured
down Walter's throat, and in a few minutes he opened his eyes. For a
moment he looked confused, then he smiled at his father.
"You were just in time," he said. "We couldn't have held out much
longer."
"Yes, we were just in time, thank God!" his father said; "but where are
the ladies?"
"In the drawing room. Mrs. Conyers has fainted."
Captain Davenant ran upstairs. Claire had succeeded in restoring her
mother, who had just sat up when Captain Davenant entered.
"My daughter tells me that you have rescued us, you and your son," she
said faintly. "How can I thank you enough?"
"Never mind that now, my dear lady," Captain Davenant said hastily. "Just
at present, we have no time to lose. The fellows who have escaped will
carry the news to William's camp, and in half an hour we shall have a
regiment of cavalry here. I must retreat at once, and carry my wounded
with me. What will you do? Will you stay here, or will you and your
daughter come with us?"
"Oh, I will go with you, please. If I was sure my husband would come with
them, I would not fear; but he may not hear of it, and there is no saying
what they might do."
"How is Walter, Captain Davenant?" Claire--who had been waiting
impatiently for her mother to finish--burst in. "He was wounded, and
there was such terrible fighting afterwards, and he has not come back
with you."
"He fainted from loss of blood," Captain Davenant said; "but I do not
think his wounds are serious.
"Mrs. Conyers, I can only give you five minutes. Take with you any jewels
or valuables you prize most. If they should arrive without your husband,
they will be sure to sack and burn the house."
Captain Davenant now hurried downstairs. The wounded had already been
collected. There were but four so seriously wounded as to be unable to
walk. Six had been killed. The wounded, including Walter, lay on
blankets. Men took each a corner, and at once started to the spot where
the boats had been left.
Captain Davenant told four men to wait at the foot of the stairs, while
he went up to the drawing room. Mrs. Conyers and her daughter were
already prepared. Each had thrown a shawl over her head, and had in their
hands the dressing cases containing Mrs. Conyers's jewellery.
"Now, madam," Captain Davenant said, "if you will point out your plate
chest, I have four men below in readiness to carry it to the boat. It is
no use leaving that to be divided between the marauders."
Mrs. Conyers pointed out two chests, in one of which deeds and other
valuable documents were kept, and in the other the plate, of which Mrs.
Conyers had a considerable quantity. Two men seized each of them.
"Now, Mrs. Conyers, please accompany them as quick as you can to the
river. We will follow and cover the retreat. I think we have a few
minutes yet, before cavalry can arrive from the camp."
When Captain Davenant and the rearguard reached the bank, they found that
the boats had already returned, after taking over the wounded and a
portion of the detachment. The rest, with the two ladies and the female
servants, at once took their places, and were taken across before any
sound betokened the arrival of the enemy at the Hall.
"I sincerely hope, Mrs. Conyers," Captain Davenant said, as they landed,
"that Mr. Conyers may accompany the first body of troops who arrive, for
if not, I fear they will set fire to the Hall. They must have lost
considerably over fifty men, and in their rage at finding no one on whom
to wreak their vengeance, they will make no inquiry as to whom the house
belongs. Indeed, they will find no one there to ask. The servants of the
house had already fled, and I sent my boy's servant, Larry, round to the
stables to tell the men there to ride away with the horses. They will
accompany fifteen of my men, who mounted as many of the horses we
captured, and are driving the rest to a ford some miles away. They are a
valuable capture, and altogether, as far as we are concerned, we have
made a good night's work of it."
"But I do not understand now," Mrs. Conyers said, "how it was that you
came across just in time. How did you know that we were in such trouble?
Because I am sure you would not have come across to attack the soldiers
in our house, without some special reason?"
"No, indeed, madam, I certainly should not have made your house a
battlefield. The fact is, our fortunate arrival is due entirely to my
son. He made all the arrangements, without my knowing anything about it.
He sent over his boy to one of your lads in the stable, and arranged
that, if there should be any trouble in the house in the absence of Mr.
Conyers, he should run down and signal across the river. Your daughter's
maid was to let the boy know what was going on within. It was not till he
had the whole business in train, that Walter told me anything about it.
As it was his plan and not mine, and I could see he was extremely anxious
about it, I left the matter in his hands, and authorized him to lead the
first party across whenever the signal was made, night or day. Our boats
would only carry twenty-five men, and four of these had to return with
them. As Walter would have but a quarter of our force with him, I ordered
him, in case the signal was made and he crossed, not to attack until I
joined him, unless the necessity seemed very urgent. I suppose he
considered it was so, for he would hardly have fallen upon some eighty or
ninety troopers, unless he had deemed it most urgent."
"Thank God he did so!" Mrs. Conyers said, "for we owe him our lives, and
more. I cannot tell you all now. It is too horrible to think of. But I
shall never forget the thankfulness and joy I felt, when suddenly I heard
the noise of shouts and firing, and the men who were trying to tear my
child from my arms suddenly desisted and, rushing out of the room, left
us alone. I fainted then, and knew nothing more till I heard, in a
confused way, the sound of shouting and conflict, and Claire was bending
over me, telling me that your son was holding the stairs against the
Germans, and that he was expecting help to arrive every moment.
"Where is he? I long to see him, and give him my thanks and blessing."
"He is in that cottage yonder, which is at present our quarters," Captain
Davenant said. "I told them to send off a trooper to Limerick, for a
doctor, as soon as they got across."
"But you assured me his wound was not dangerous," Mrs. Conyers said
anxiously.
"No, I am sure it is not. It is a severe wound, but not likely to have
serious consequences. But I fear that some of the men are in a far worse
condition."
"I shall install myself as head nurse," Mrs. Conyers said, decidedly. "We
owe so much to you all, that that is the least I can do."
"Very well, Mrs. Conyers. Then I appoint you head of the hospital. I will
have the four seriously wounded men moved into the cottage next to mine.
You will be able to obtain plenty of assistance among the women of the
village. O'Moore and I will move into other quarters, and leave the
cottage to you and your daughter. Your servants can have the cottage on
the other side."
They had now reached the door.
"I will just go in and see him first," Captain Davenant said.
Larry was sitting by Walter's couch.
"Well, Walter, how are you feeling?"
"Oh, I am all right now," Walter said, "since Larry brought me word that
the boats have brought everyone across safely. I was anxious before, you
know."
"How does your shoulder feel?"
"It throbs a bit, father; but that is no odds."
"Mrs. Conyers is coming in to see you. She is going to establish herself
here, and O'Moore and I are moving out. She is going, for the present, to
be head nurse."
"That will be nice," Walter said; "but I sha'n't want much nursing."
"I don't know, Walter. A downright cut with a heavy cavalry sword is not
a light matter, even when it falls on the shoulder instead of the head.
But you had better not talk much now, but, when you have seen Mrs.
Conyers, try and get off to sleep.
"Larry, do you see to moving our things out, at once."
So saying, Captain Davenant left the room, and a minute later Mrs.
Conyers came in. She took the left hand that Walter held out to her.
"God bless you, my boy!" she said, softly. "I shall never forget what
Claire and I owe to you. All my life I shall be your grateful debtor, and
some day I hope that my husband will be able to thank you for what you
did for us.
"And now," she went on, in a lighter tone, "I am going to be your nurse,
and my first order is that you lie quite quiet, and try to get to sleep.
I will make you some barley water, and put it by your bedside. That is
all I can do for you, till the surgeon comes to examine your wound.
Claire wanted to come in to thank you herself, but the child has gone
through enough for one night, so I have sent her straight to bed. I do
not want her on my hands, too."
A few minutes later Larry, having established the two officers in another
cottage, returned and took his place by Walter's bedside, while Mrs.
Conyers went out to see to the comfort of the other wounded. Half an hour
later, a surgeon arrived from Limerick. Two of the cases were pronounced
at once to be hopeless, the other two he thought might recover. Walter's
wound he said was a severe one, but in no way dangerous. The sword had
probably glanced off something as it descended, so that the edge had not
fallen straight on the shoulder bone. It had, however, nearly taken off
the arm. Had it fallen truly, it would probably have been fatal.
After he had attended to the more serious cases, he dressed the wounds of
the other men, several of which were quite as severe as that of Walter,
although they had not incapacitated the men from making their way down to
the boats.
Captain Davenant had kept a watch towards the Hall. And as, in an hour
after they had crossed, no sheet of flame was seen arising thence, he was
able to tell Mrs. Conyers that he thought that it was safe, and that
either Mr. Conyers himself must have accompanied the troops, who would by
this time have unquestionably arrived there, or that some officer, aware
that the owner of the house was a friend, and with sufficient authority
over the men to prevent its destruction, must be in command.
In the morning, he had a long talk with her. He suggested that she and
her daughter should accompany him into Limerick, and be sent, with a flag
of truce, across the bridge to join her husband in William's camp. This,
however, she positively declined to accede to.
"In the first place," she said, "I consider that it is my duty to nurse
the men who suffered for our sake. In the next place, after what we went
through last night, I refuse absolutely to place myself and my daughter
in the hands of the ruffians who disgrace the cause of William. Hitherto,
as a Protestant, I have been an adherent of that cause, as has my
husband. Henceforth, I am an Irishwoman, and as such abhor a cause which
can employ such instruments, and inflict such atrocities upon Ireland. I
will write a letter to my husband, telling him exactly what has happened,
and how we have been preserved, and say that nothing will induce me to
trust myself and Claire among William's troops, but that I shall remain
on this side of the Shannon. If, as I trust will not be the case, the
English force their way across the river, I shall make for Galway, and
thence take ship to England, where we can join him. I intend to remain
here as long as I can be useful as a nurse, and I shall then retire, with
Claire, to Galway, where I have some relations, with whom I can stay
until matters are decided."
Mrs. Conyers at once wrote the letter, which Captain Davenant carried
himself into Limerick, as he was going in to report the occurrences of
the preceding night. The governor immediately sent the letter across,
with a flag of truce. General Sarsfield, who was in command of the
cavalry, expressed himself highly pleased with the result of the raid
across the Shannon, and appointed three officers to raise another troop
of horse with the captured animals, which had arrived before morning at
Ballygan, and to place themselves under Captain Davenant's command.
"Your son must be a lad after your own heart," he said to Captain
Davenant. "It was indeed a most gallant action, thus, with twenty-five
dismounted men only, to attack a strong troop of Hessians. I hope that,
as soon as he is well enough to mount a horse again, you will introduce
him to me. Keep your troop in readiness for a move, for I mean to beat
them up before long."
"Can't I see Walter today, mamma?" Claire asked, after Captain Davenant
had ridden off. "It seems so unkind, my being in the house with him, and
not going in to tell him how sorry I am that he was wounded."
"Not today, Claire. He is very flushed and feverish this morning, and I
must not have him excited at all."
"But I would not excite him, mother. I would only go in and speak to him
quietly."
"Even that would excite him, my dear. I will tell him that you want to
come in and see him; but that I think you had better not do so, for a day
or two."
But even without the excitement of Claire's presence, Walter became more
feverish, and by evening was talking wildly. The excitement and anxiety
he had gone through were as much responsible for this as the wound, and
by midnight he knew no one. The surgeon, who came over in the evening,
ordered cloths constantly soaked with fresh water to be placed round his
head, and that he should be given, whenever he desired it, barley water
sharpened by apples boiled in it.
Mrs. Conyers and Larry sat, one on each side of his couch, and once or
twice, when he was lying quiet, Claire was allowed to steal in and look
at him; but at other times Mrs. Conyers kept her out of the room, for, in
his feverish talk, Walter was constantly mentioning her name, and telling
her he would come to her.
Mrs. Conyers was troubled and perplexed in her mind. Regarding Claire as
a child, and Walter as a lad of eighteen, the thought that any serious
consequence would arise from their intercourse at the Hall had not
occurred to her; but now she could not doubt that, on Walter's part, at
least, a serious attachment for her daughter had sprung up, and Claire's
face and manner told her a similar story. She was but sixteen, but,
having been her mother's companion and friend, she was older than many
girls of the same age. Mrs. Conyers would rather that it had not been so,
for she foresaw much sorrow for Claire. She had thought that her
daughter, as a wealthy heiress, would some day make a good match, and
Walter, whose fortune, in any case, would be but a small one--for she
knew that his father's estates had passed from the family--was a soldier
on the side she believed would be the losing one. Still, she felt that he
had earned a right to Claire, and resolved that, come what would, if it
turned out that Claire's affections were really given to the lad, she
should have her support and championship with her father.
For two days the fever continued, and then the care of his watchers
prevailed, and Walter sank into a quiet sleep, from which he awoke
sensible and refreshed.
An answer had been received from Mr. Conyers, on the same afternoon that
his wife's letter was sent to him. He had been in council with the king,
when an officer came in with the news that some Hessians had ridden in,
saying that the troop to which they belonged had ridden out to a large
house, two miles beyond the spot at which the regiment was quartered, and
had there been attacked by a body of Irish troops, who had killed all
their officers, and three-quarters of the troop.
"Knowing where the regiment was quartered, it at once struck me that the
house might be our own, and, on the trooper being brought in, I found
that it was so, and obtained permission from the king to accompany the
regiment of Danish horse, who were at once sent out. The king gave
stringent orders to the officer in command that the house was to be
respected, and a guard was to be placed there to protect it from
marauders. You can imagine my anxiety, as I rode out, and how it was
increased when I found the place absolutely deserted. From the trooper
whom we took with us, we learned something of what had taken place. He
had been in the garden, but the officers and nearly half the troopers
were in the house. Suddenly, the sounds of a conflict were heard within.
Then many of his comrades jumped from the windows, and, as they reported
the number of the assailants was not large, an attack was made upon the
house. After considerable loss, an entrance was effected, and they were
gradually overcoming the defenders, when they were attacked in the rear
by a fresh body of the enemy, and only a few of them managed to make
their escape.
"The appearance of the house fully corroborated his story. The inside was
piled with dead, who were found scattered all over the house. Among them
were a few men in the uniform of one of the Irish cavalry regiments. This
was some alleviation to my terrible anxiety. Had the assailants been a
body of peasants, I should have feared that they had wreaked on you and
Claire the hatred which they feel, I own not unjustly, towards the king's
foreign troops. As they were regular soldiers, I had hopes that they had
only carried you off as hostages.
"One of the female servants was found below, killed. No pursuit was
possible, as we could find no one of whom to inquire by which way the
enemy retreated; but, in the morning, we found that the horses of the
Hessians had been ridden to a spot some miles up the river, where they
had swam or forded the stream. There was a strong party of the enemy on
the opposite side. My anxiety was terrible, till I received your letter,
and you may imagine how great a shock it was to me to learn the frightful
scene through which you had passed, and how my sentiments changed towards
those whom I had regarded as your abductors, but whom I now learn were
your saviours.
"I have read that portion of your letter to the king, who is furious at
the evil conduct of his troops. He has, all along, done everything in his
power to repress it; but when not under his immediate eye, it seems as if
all discipline was lost, and the troops behaved rather as a horde of
savages than as soldiers. After what had happened, I cannot blame you for
the opinion you express in your letter, or for your determination not to
trust yourself and Claire in this camp, although I am sure that the king
would send a detachment of his own Dutch guards with you to Dublin. I
trust that you will, as soon as the work you have undertaken is over, go
to our cousins at Galway, and take ship without delay to England, where I
will at once join you, when I hear of your arrival there.
"Please express to Captain Davenant and his son the extreme obligation
under which I feel towards them, and assure them that I look forward to
the time when this unfortunate struggle shall be at an end, and I can
meet them and thank them personally. It will be a satisfaction to you to
be able to inform them that I have, this morning, obtained from the king
a peremptory order on the commission in Dublin, to stay all proceedings
in the matter of Captain Davenant's estate near Bray, which was on the
list of confiscated properties. I am forwarding this by one of the royal
messengers, who leaves with despatches today, and, when I visit Dublin, I
shall do myself the pleasure of calling on Mrs. Davenant, and of setting
her mind at ease."
While Walter had been at his worst, his father had been away for only a
few hours. After his interview with Sarsfield in Limerick, a messenger
arrived from that general, ordering Captain Davenant to bring his troop
into the city at once. It was four in the afternoon when he arrived, and
he at once went to General Sarsfield's quarters.
"Let the men dismount, Captain Davenant, and let them and the horses
feed. We have a long ride before us tonight. I have just heard that
William's siege artillery is coming up, under a weak escort, and I mean
to get round in the Dutchman's rear and destroy it. He shall find that
Limerick is not to be taken as easily as he expects.
"He has had a disagreeable sample of our quality today. A deserter
brought in news of the exact position of his tent, and our artillery have
been giving him such a peppering that, from the church tower, we see that
he has been obliged to move his camp."
As soon as it was night, four hundred cavalry were in the saddle.
Sarsfield placed himself at their head, and rode twelve miles up the
Shannon to Killaloe. Crossing the river there, he made a wide sweep with
his cavalry, until he was in the heart of the Tipperary mountains, in
rear of William's camp.
Quietly as the expedition had been carried out, it was impossible that so
large a body of horse should ride through the country unperceived, and a
gentleman of county Clare, named O'Brian, thinking that he would gain
honour and advantage by reporting their passage to William, set out for
the British camp. Being unknown there, he was a long time before he could
get access to the king. The officers to whom he spoke paid little
attention to his story about a body of Irish horse passing through the
country, and were much more interested in gaining information from him as
to the state of the stock of cattle, sheep, and pigs in his part of the
county; for, owing to the terror excited by the conduct of William's
soldiers, the people for many miles round had driven off their stock and
left the villages, and provisions were already becoming scarce in the
camp.
At length, however, one of those to whom he had spoken mentioned his
story to the king, who at once sent for him, and saw the importance of
the news he brought. O'Brian himself had no idea of the object of
Sarsfield's expedition, but the king instantly guessed that it was the
siege train. He therefore ordered a large body of cavalry to be
immediately despatched to meet the artillery on its way, and protect it
into camp.
All day, Sarsfield remained in concealment among the mountains, until,
towards evening, the train came in sight, moving slowly with its escort
of two troops of dragoons along the high road. He watched it until it
halted, and encamped for the night, in a field beside the highway. He
waited until the horses were picketed, and the men engaged in making
their encampment for the night. Then the Irish cavalry burst down from
the glen in which they had been hiding. The officer in command sounded to
horse, but it was too late; before the men were in the saddle, the Irish
were upon them, and in a moment the two troops of dragoons were dispersed
or killed.
Sarsfield's men at once set to, to collect the powder waggons, pontoons,
and baggage of every description. The great guns were filled with powder
to the muzzle, and then buried two-thirds of their length in the earth.
The whole mass of siege equipage was piled above them, and a train of
gunpowder was laid to the store in the centre. The men then drew off to a
distance. A match was applied to the train, and the whole blew up with a
tremendous explosion.
The shock was heard in the faraway camp of William, and he knew that his
cavalry had arrived too late to avert the catastrophe he feared. They
had, indeed, just arrived within sight of the spot when the explosion
took place. They rode on at full speed, only to find the vast pile of
ruined woodwork blazing furiously. The Irish cavalry was seen in the
distance, leisurely retiring; but, although the English pursued for a
short time, the Irish easily evaded them in the darkness among the hills.
The whole of William's cavalry in camp were sent out, when the explosion
was felt, to endeavour to cut off the Irish horse; but Sarsfield was well
acquainted with the ground, and retired with his troops safely across the
Shannon, having struck a terrible blow against the designs of William.
The king, however, found that, in spite of the measures Sarsfield had
taken, two of the guns remained uninjured by the explosion. These were
brought to the camp, and another heavy gun was fetched from Waterford,
together with a small quantity of ammunition. The regiments were at once
set to manufacture fascines for the siege, and this work proceeded
quickly, the orchards and plantations furnishing an abundance of wood.
The fascines were used for filling up ditches, and the advances against
the town were pushed forward with vigour.
But the besiegers were not allowed to carry on their work unmolested, for
a constant fire was kept up by the guns on the walls, and the besieged
made several sorties, driving back the working parties, destroying their
work, and retiring before any considerable bodies of troops could be
brought up to attack them. The three heavy guns were, however, brought
into position at a short distance from the wall, and began to play upon
it.
The dissensions between the Irish commanders still continued, and, beyond
Sarsfield's raid against the battering train, nothing was done to annoy
the enemy in the rear, although, had any vigour been shown, the Irish
army lying idle west of the Shannon could have moved across, and speedily
starved out William's army by cutting off all supplies. Even as it was,
provisions could only be collected by sending out strong bodies of troops
to plunder the country; for the peasantry had been goaded into fury by
the evil conduct of the troops, and were now in a state of insurrection,
cutting off and murdering all stragglers, and driving in small parties.
William had good reason to regret that he had brought with him so small a
contingent of British troops, owing to his doubts whether they could be
depended upon, and his poor opinion of their bravery; for, since the days
of Agincourt, English troops had been seldom seen on the Continent, and
were consequently held but in small esteem there. He had with him now a
regiment of English grenadiers, and a few line regiments, but the bulk of
the army was composed of his Dutch troops and foreign mercenaries. The
latter had shown, at the battle of the Boyne, that their courage was not
of a high order, while their excesses had not only produced a bitter
feeling of hatred against them throughout the country, but had done
immense harm to the cause, by rendering it next to impossible to obtain
provisions.
Walter's progress towards recovery, from the day when he recovered
consciousness, was very rapid. The fever, though severe, had been short,
and he gained strength almost as rapidly as he had lost it. The morning
after he had come to himself, Mrs. Conyers brought Claire in to see him.
"Here is a young lady who is very anxious to see how you are getting on,
Walter," she said cheerfully; "and, now you are going on so well, I shall
hand you over a good deal to her care, as some of the others want my
attention badly. You must not talk much, you know, else we shall be
having you getting feverish again."
So saying, she left the room.
Claire had stopped timidly near the door. The change which four days had
made in Walter's appearance shocked her, and she scarcely recognized, in
the pale drawn face, the youth who had burst in, sword in hand, to her
rescue on that terrible evening. The tears were running fast down her
cheeks, as she approached the couch.
"Why, what is the matter, Claire?" he asked. "You must not cry. I am all
right again now, and in a week shall be on horseback, I hope."
"Oh, Walter, what can I say?" she said. "To think that you should have
suffered so, for us!"
"There is nothing dreadful about it," he said, smiling. "A soldier must
expect to get wounded, sometimes, and a slash from a German sword is not
a serious matter. I am only too glad that I got it in your cause,
Claire--only too glad that I was able to be of service to you--and your
mother," he added in afterthought. "It makes me very happy, to think I
have been useful to you, only I would rather that you didn't say anything
more about it. I am quite content and happy, as it is, and, if it had
been my life, I would have gladly given it."
"I won't say any more, if you don't wish it," Claire said quietly, "but I
shall think of it, always.
"And now," she said, with an effort, "mamma said you were not to talk
much, and you look quite flushed already, so you must lie quiet, and I
will read to you, or work, if you like that better."
"I don't care which it is," Walter said, "so that I can look at you;" and
this time Claire's cheeks were a good deal redder than Walter's.
Mrs. Conyers returned in half an hour, and found Claire sitting working,
while Walter lay looking at her.
"I think, Claire, you had better take your work in the next room again,"
she said. "Walter looks flushed, and I don't think your visit has done
him any good. You have been talking too much."
"It has done me an immense deal of good, Mrs. Conyers," Walter protested;
while Claire exclaimed that they had hardly spoken a word, which indeed
was the truth, for Walter had been feeling too dreamily happy to want to
talk, and Claire had felt so shy and embarrassed, with Walter watching
her, that she had been unable to hit on a single subject for remark.
Another two days, and Walter was well enough to get up and lie on a couch
of heather, covered with the blanket, which Larry had prepared for him in
the next room. His voice had recovered its natural ring, and Claire had
got over her unaccustomed shyness; and Mrs. Conyers, as she moved in and
out, heard them laughing and chatting together, as they had done ten days
before at the Hall.