And while the tucket was sounding, Bennet moved close to the
bewildered parson, and whispered violently in his ear.

Dick Shelton saw the priest's eye turned upon him for an instant in
a startled glance. He had some cause for thought; for this Sir
Harry Shelton was his own natural father. But he said never a
word, and kept his countenance unmoved.

Hatch and Sir Oliver discussed together for a while their altered
situation; ten men, it was decided between them, should be
reserved, not only to garrison the Moat House, but to escort the
priest across the wood. In the meantime, as Bennet was to remain
behind, the command of the reinforcement was given to Master
Shelton. Indeed, there was no choice; the men were loutish
fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while Dick was not only
popular, but resolute and grave beyond his age. Although his youth
had been spent in these rough, country places, the lad had been
well taught in letters by Sir Oliver, and Hatch himself had shown
him the management of arms and the first principles of command.
Bennet had always been kind and helpful; he was one of those who
are cruel as the grave to those they call their enemies, but
ruggedly faithful and well willing to their friends; and now, while
Sir Oliver entered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite
penmanship, a memorandum of the last occurrences to his master, Sir
Daniel Brackley, Bennet came up to his pupil to wish him God-speed
upon his enterprise.

"Ye must go the long way about, Master Shelton," he said; "round by
the bridge, for your life! Keep a sure man fifty paces afore you,