then came more troopers, not alike in dress, being, in fact, remnants
of shattered regiments. She was trembling all over with eagerness,
standing up, and so leaning forward, that she might have tumbled into
the lane, had not Steadfast held her.

At last came a scream. "There's Sir Harry! There's Dick! There's
Staines! Oh! Dick, Dick, where's father?"

There was a halt, and bronzed faces looked up.

"Ha! Who's there?"

"I! I! Emlyn. Oh! Dick, is father coming?"

"Hollo, little one! Art thou safe after all?"

"I am, I am. Father! father! Come! Where is he?"

"It is poor Gaythorn's little wench," explained one of the soldiers,
as Sir Harry, a grey-haired man, looking worn and weary, turned back,
while Steadfast helped the child out on the bank with some
difficulty, for her extreme haste had nearly brought her down, and
she stood curtseying, holding out her arms, and quivering with hope
that began to be fear.

"Poor child!" were the old gentleman's first words. "And where were
you?"

"Please your honour, father left me in the thorn brake," said Emlyn,
"and said he would come for me, but he did not; it got dark, and this