hould have seemed weak; while, after pressing the ring tightly down in
its place, Fred stood back watching the group of wounded and captive men
for a few minutes, before turning away, and then stopping short by the
little heap of swords of which they had been deprived.

As it happened, one with a peculiarly shaped guard took his attention,
for he remembered having seen it hanging to the belt of the Cavalier he
had been tending.

Stooping down, he was in the act of drawing it from among the others,
when the sentinel made a movement to arrest his hand.

"Don't interfere," said Fred, sharply. "I will be answerable to Colonel
Forrester for what I have done."

The man drew back, and stood resting upon his clumsy firelock again,
while, as the lad stood with the sword in his hand, he raised his eyes
from the hilt, and found that the Cavalier was watching him, and making
a sign to him to approach once more.

Fred stepped to his side.

"No," he said; "you cannot have it. You are a prisoner."

"Of course," said the wounded man, smiling; "though if I had it, I could
not use it. I was going to say I am glad you have taken it. A capital
blade, my boy. Here, unbuckle the belt, and take it and the sheath.
Yes, I insist. That's right. Keep it, lad, and don't, if we meet
again, use it on me. No, no thanks; it is yours by right of capture.
Now I want a nap."

CHAPTER FORTY.

A SAD REPORT.

The Cavalier let his head sink once more upon his pillow, and Fred went
slowly away, to go and watch the flames rising and falling as the Hall
burned rapidly, sending forth a glow of heat that could be felt far
away.

And now that the hurry and excitement were at an end, Fred had time once
more to think of those of whose fate he was still uncertain.

Just then a prisoner was being brought in, and he hurried to the spot,
but only to turn away disappointed, to go and gaze once more at the
burning pile, musing sadly on the times when he had passed such pleasant
hours about the place which had been to him as a second home; and
thinking, as he gazed through the open windows into the furnace within,
of the various rooms where every object was so familiar--picture,
ornament, carved cabinet, trophy--and now all turning to glowing embers.

"Seems a pity, Master Fred, don't it?" said a voice at his elbow.

"You here, Samson?"

"Yes, sir; just come from round at the back."

"Has the fire made its way there?"

"Oh, bless you, sir,