for news.
His wound doth not make him the more patient."

"We bring him at least the best medicine.

"Easy, lads! Ship your oars. Catch hold of her prow, Toby. So here
we are safe and sound, and there is the prisoner!"

Cuthbert had raised his head, and supporting himself on his left
elbow was gazing about him from side to side. He was still in the
middle of the river; but the boat was now alongside a big barge
moored in midstream, and from this barge several lights were
gleaming, whilst voices were answering and asking questions, and
the name of Tyrrel passed continually from mouth to mouth.

Then the rowers in the bow came and lifted him bodily in their
arms, taking care not to be needlessly rough with the broken arm
that gave him considerable pain; and so soon as he was placed upon
the barge, the rope that bound his feet was cut, somebody remarking
that it was needless now to hobble him, since he was safely on
board and beneath the eye of the whole crew.

"And where is Tyrrel?" asked several voices.

"Below in the cabin, and waiting impatiently for news. Go, and take
the boy with you; the sight of him will be the best medicine for
him."

Cuthbert was led along, dazed and bewildered, but calm from a sense
of his own helplessness, and perhaps from bodily weakness, too.
This weakness surprised him, for he did not know how much blood he
had lost, and he could not account for the way in which the lights
swam before his eyes and his steps reeled, as he was taken down a
dark ladder-like staircase and into a low long room with a swinging
lamp suspended from the ceiling. It felt close and airless after
the coldness of the night, and everything swam in a mist before his
eyes; but he heard a voice not altogether unfamiliar say in
authoritative accents: "Let him sit down, and give him a stoup of
wine;" and presently his vision cleared, and he found himself
sitting at one side of a rude table opposite the highway chieftain
Tyrrel, whose face he well remembered. They were surrounded by a
ring of stalwart men, some of whose faces were vaguely familiar to
him from having been seen at the old mill a year ago from now.

He noted that Tyrrel's face was pale, and that his head was
bandaged. It was plain that he had received recent injuries, and
apparently these did not smooth his temper. His face was dark and
stern, and the eyes that looked straight at Cuthbert gleamed
ominously beneath their heavy brows.

"Well, boy," he s