He had
been among those on whom the sharpest attack had fallen, and not many
of them had got off alive.
"What like was he?" said Steadfast. "We looked at a many of the poor
corpses that lay there. They'll never be out of my eyes again at
night!"
"A battlefield or two would cure that," grimly smiled Hodge.
"Gaythorn--he was a man to know again--had big black moustaches, and
had lost an eye, had a scar like a weal from a whip all down here
from a sword-cut at Long Marston."
"Then I saw him," said Stead, in a low voice. "Did he wear a green
scarf?"
"Aye, aye. Belonged to the Rangers, but they are pretty nigh all
gone now."
"Under the rail of the miller's croft," added Stead.
"Just so. That was where I saw them make a stand and go down like
skittles."
"Poor little maid. What shall I tell her?"
"Well, you can never be sure," said Hodge. "There was a man now I
thought as dead as a door nail at Newbury that charged by my side
only yesterday. You'd best tell the maid that if I find her father
I'll send him after her; and if not, when the place is quiet, you
might look at the mill and see if he is lying wounded there.
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