bitterer than ever against all honest men, but I could not help
coming this way, I so much longed to see my mother and all of you."

"You are not wounded?" said Walter, anxiously.

"Nothing to speak of, only a sword-cut on my shoulder, by which I
have lost more blood than convenient for such a journey."

"Here, I'll lead your horse; lean on me," said Walter, alarmed at the
faint, weary voice in which his brother spoke after the first
excitement of the recognition. "I'll show you what Lucy and I call
our bower, where no one ever comes but ourselves. There you can rest
till night."

"And poor Bayard?" said Edmund.

"I think I could put him into the out-house in the field next to the
copse, hide his trappings here, and get him provender from Ewins's
farm. Will that do?"

"Excellently. Poor Ewins!--that is a sad story. He fell, fighting
bravely by my side, cut down in Sidbury Street in the last charge.
Alas! these are evil days!"

"And Diggory Stokes, our own knave?"

"I know nothing of him after the first onset. Rogues and cowards
enough were there. Think, Walter, of seeing his Majesty strive in
vain to rally them, when the day might yet have been saved, and the
traitors hung down their heads, and stood like blocks while he called