"Ha--young rebel!" exclaimed the hunter. "Know you what you say?"

"I reck not," replied the boy: "you have slain my father and my
brothers, and now you have slain my last and only friend. Do as you
will with me--only for my mother's sake, let it not be a shameful
death; and let my sister Eleanor have my poor Leonillo. And let me,
too, leave this gold with the priest of Alton, that my true-hearted
loving Adam may have fit burial and masses."

"I tell thee, boy, he is in no more need of a burial than thou or I.
I touched him warily. Here--his face more to the air."

And the stranger bent down, and with his powerful strength lifted the
heavy form of Adam, so that the boy could better support him. Then
taking some wine from the hunting-flask slung to his own shoulder, he
applied some drops to the bruise. The smart produced signs of life,
and the hunter put his flask into the boy's hand, saying, "Give him a
draught, and then--" he put his finger to his own lips, and stood
somewhat apart.

Adam opened his eyes, and made some inarticulate murmurs; then, the
liquor being held to his lips, he drank, and with fresh vigour raised
himself.

"The boy!--where is he? What has chanced? Is it you, Sir? Where is
the rogue? Fled, the villain? We shall have the Prince upon us
next! I must after him, and cut his story short! Your hand, Sir!"

"Nay, Adam--your hurt!"