the rebel at once. Handling him as carefully as might be, to avoid
giving him unnecessary pain they removed his back-and-breast, which
was flung with a clatter into one of the corners of the barn. Then,
whilst one of them gently drew off his boots, Rodenard, with the
lanthorn close beside him, cut away the fellow's doublet, and laid
bare the oozing sword-wound that gaped in his mangled side. He
whispered an order to Gilles, who went swiftly off to the coach in
quest of something that he had asked for; then he sat on his heels
and waited, his hand upon the man's pulse, his eyes on his face.

I stooped until my lips were on a level with my intendant's ear.

"How is it with him?" I inquired.

"Dying," whispered Rodenard in answer. "He has lost too much blood,
and he is probably bleeding inwardly as well. There is no hope of
his life, but he may linger thus some little while, sinking gradually,
and we can at least mitigate the suffering of his last moments."

When presently the men returned with the things that Ganymede had
asked for, he mixed some pungent liquid with water, and, whilst a
servant held the bowl, he carefully sponged the rebel's wound. This
and a cordial that he had given him to drink seemed to revive him
and to afford him ease. His breathing was no longer marked by any
rasping sound, and his eyes seemed to burn more intelligently.

"I am dying - is it not so?" he asked, and Ganymede bowed his head
in silence. The poor fellow sighed. "Raise me," he begged, and
when this service had been done him, his eyes wandered round until
they found me. Then "Monsieur," he said, "will you do me a last