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
country lad found me, and took me home. Is father coming, your
honour?"
"Ah! my poor little maid, your father will never come again," said
Sir Harry, sadly. "He went down by the mill stream. I saw him fall.
What is to be done for her?" he added, turning to a younger
gentleman, who rode by him, as the child stood as it were stunned for
a moment. "This is the worst of it all. Heaven knows we freely
sacrifice ourselves in the cause of Church and King, but it is hard
to sacrifice others.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155