ying my ankles in order
to lead me to the scene of my murder, I heard, as plainly as ever I
heard anything in my life, the clinking of horseshoes and the jingling
of bridle-chains, with the clank of sabres against stirrup-irons. Is it
likely that I, who had lived with the light cavalry since the first hair
shaded my lip, would mistake the sound of troopers on the march?

'Help, comrades, help!' I shrieked, and though they struck me across
the mouth and tried to drag me up to the trees, I kept on yelling, 'Help
me, my brave boys! Help me, my children! They are murdering your
colonel!'

For the moment my wounds and my troubles had brought on a delirium, and
I looked for nothing less than my five hundred hussars, kettle-drums and
all, to appear at the opening of the glade.

But that which really appeared was very different to anything which I
had conceived. Into the clear space there came galloping a fine young
man upon a most beautiful roan horse. He was fresh-faced and
pleasant-looking, with the most debonair bearing in the world and the
most gallant way of carrying himself--a way which reminded me somewhat
of my own. He wore a singular coat which had once been red all over, but
which was now stained to the colour of a withered oak-leaf wherever the
weather could reach it. His shoulder-straps, however, were of golden
lace, and he had a bright metal helmet upon his head, with a coquettish
white plume upon one side of its crest. He trotted his horse up the
glade, while behind him rode four cavaliers in the same dress--all
clean-shaven, with round, comely faces, looking to me more like monks
than dragoons. At a short, gruff order they halted with a rattle of
arms, while their leader cantered forward, the fire beating upon his
eager face and the beautiful head of his charger. I knew, of course, by
the strange coats that they were English. It was the first sight that I
had ever had of them, but from their stout bearing and their masterful
way I could see at a glance that what I had always been told was true,
and that they were excellent people to fight against.

'Well, well, well!' cried the young officer, in sufficiently bad French,
'what game are you up to here? Who was that who was yelling for help,
and what are you trying to do to him?'

It was at that moment that I learned to bless those months which
Obriant, the descendant of the Irish kings, had spent in teaching me the
tongue of the English. My ankles had just be