Poor fellows, there was no doubt of their being out of sorts, as they
tramped along, half hidden in dust, even the officers, who rode
before them, with ragged plumes and slouched hats. The silken
banners, which they had been allowed to carry out, because of their
prompt surrender, hung limp and soiled, almost like tokens of a
defeat, and if any one of those spectators behind the hawthorns had
been conversant with Roman history, it would have seemed to them like
the passing under the yoke, so dejected, nay, ashamed was the
demeanour of the gentlemen. Emlyn whispered name after name as they
went by, but even she was hushed and overawed by the spectacle, as
four abreast these sad remnants of the royal army marched along the
lane, one or two trying to whistle, a few more talking in under
tones, but all soon dying away, as if they were too much out of heart
to keep anything up.
She scarcely stirred while the infantry, who were by far the most
numerous, were going by, only naming corps or officer to Stead, then
there came an interval, and the tread of horses and clank of their
trappings could be heard.
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