sobbing panting, and saw the struggling of a poor horse not quite
dead, and his rider a little way from him, a fine stout young man,
cold and stiff, as Nanny turned up his face to see if it was her
Harry's.

A little farther on lay another figure on his back, but as Nanny
stooped over it, a lantern was flashed on her and a gruff voice
called out, "Villains, ungodly churls, be you robbing the dead?" and
a tall man stood darkly before them, pistol in hand.

"No, sir; no, sir," sobbed out Nanny. "I am only a poor widow woman,
come down to see whether my poor lad be dead or alive and wanting his
mother."

"What was his regiment?" demanded the soldier in a kinder voice.

"Oh, sir, your honour, don't be hard on him--he couldn't help it--he
went with Sir George Elmwood."

"That makes no odds, woman, when a man's down," said the soldier.
"Unless 'tis with the Fifth Monarchy sort, and I don't hold with
them. I have an uncle and a cousin or two among the malignants, as
good fellows as ever lived--no Amalekites and Canaanites--let Smite-
them Derry say what he will. Elmwood! let's see--that was the troop
that forded higher up, and came on Fisher's corps. This way, dame.
If your son be down, you'll find him here; that is, unless he be
carried into the mill or one of the houses. Most of the wounded lie
there for the night, but the poor lads that are killed must be buried
to-morrow. Take care, dame," as poor Nanny cried out in horror at
having stumbled over a dead man's legs. He held his lantern so that