"Then were your forefathers French subjects?" asked Humphrey,
rather bewildered. "If so, how come you to speak mine own tongue as
you do?"

"I come of no French stock!" cried the companion stranger, who had
remained silent until now, looking searchingly round the clearing,
and examining Humphrey himself with curiosity; "I have no drop of
French blood in my veins, whatever Julian may have. I am Fritz
Neville. I come of an English family. But you shall hear all later
on, as we sit by our fire at night. I would hear all your tale of
desolation and woe. We, for our part, have no cause to love the
French oppressors, whose ambition and greed seem to know no bounds.
Can you give us shelter by your hearth tonight? Food we have of our
own, since we find game in sufficient abundance in these forest
tracks."

As he spoke he unslung from his shoulders a fine young fawn which
they had lately shot, and Humphrey made eager answer to the request
for hospitality.

"Would that we had better to offer! But the homestead is burnt. My
brother lies sick of a fever in yon shed--a fever brought on by
loss of blood and by anguish of mind. I have been alone in this
place with him hard upon a week now, and to me it seems as though
years instead of days had passed over my head since the calamity
happened."

"I can well believe that," said the first speaker, whom his
companion had spoken of as Julian. "There be times in a man's life
when hours are as days and days as years. But let me see your