Once or twice, indeed, he heard the galloping of bodies of horse,
and the sound of distant pistol shots and the shrieks of women came
faintly to his ears. He passed on, however, without meeting with
any of the foraging parties, and by morning was fifteen miles away
from Tilly's camp. Entering a wood he threw himself down and slept
soundly for some hours. It was nearly noon before he started again.
After an hour's walking he came upon the ruins of a village. Smoke
was still curling up from the charred beams and rafters of the
cottages, and the destruction had evidently taken place but the day
before. The bodies of several men and women lay scattered among the
houses; two or three dogs were prowling about, and these growled
angrily at the intruder, and would have attacked him had he not
flourished a club which he had cut in the woods for self defence.

Moving about through the village he heard a sound of wild laughter,
and going in that direction saw a woman sitting on the ground. In
her lap was a dead child pierced through with a lance. The woman
was talking and laughing to it, her clothes were torn, and her hair
fell in wild disorder over her shoulders. It needed but a glance
to tell Malcolm that the poor creature was mad, distraught by the
horrors of the previous day.

A peasant stood by leaning on a stick, mournfully regarding her.
He turned suddenly round with the weapon uplifted at the sound of
Malcolm's approach, but lowered it on seeing that the newcomer was
a lad.

"I hoped you were a soldier," the peasant said, as he lowered his
stick. "I should like to kill one, and then to be killed myself. My
God, what is life worth living for in this unhappy country? Three