"Uncle, uncle, how canst thou suffer that these things should be?
Here are our faithful cnihts. Let us ride to the forest. Wherefore
should it not be with Red William and his ruffians as with Scottish
Duncan and Donald?"

"Hush thee, David, my nephew. Thou knowest that may not be. But
for thee, young Bertram, we will see what can be done. Canst sit a
horse now?"

"Yea, my lord, full well. I know not what came over me, even now,"
said Bertram, much ashamed of the condition in which he had been
found.

A sumpter horse was found for him, the leader of the party saying
that they would go on to his own home, where the youth's wound
should be looked to, and they could then decide what could be done
for him.

Bertram was still so far faint, suffering, weak, and weary, that he
was hardly awake to curiosity as to his surroundings, and had quite
enough to do to keep his seat in the saddle, and follow in the wake
of the leader's tall white horse, above which shone his bright chain
mail and his still brighter golden locks, so that the exhausted boy
began in some measure to feel as if he were following St. Michael on
his way to some better world.

Now and then the tall figure turned to see how it was with him, and
as he drooped more with fatigue and pain, bade one of the retainers
keep beside him and support him.