little greeting, in a subdued and softened voice,
hoping to obtain an answer, such as her master was wont to give in a
cheery manner. Receiving no reply, she entered; and I (who could scarce
keep up with her, poor Kickums being weary) leaped from his back, and
followed. There I found her sniffing gently, but with great emotion, at
the body of Tom Faggus. A corpse poor Tom appeared to be, if ever
there was one in this world; and I turned away, and felt unable to keep
altogether from weeping. But the mare either could not understand, or
else would not believe it. She reached her long neck forth, and felt him
with her under lip, passing it over his skin as softly as a mother would
do to an infant; and then she looked up at me again; as much as to say,
'he is all right.'

Upon this I took courage, and handled poor Tom, which being young I had
feared at first to do. He groaned very feebly, as I raised him up; and
there was the wound, a great savage one (whether from pike-thrust or
musket-ball), gaping and welling in his right side, from which a piece
seemed to be torn away. I bound it up with some of my linen, so far as I
knew how; just to stanch the flow of blood, until we could get a doctor.
Then I gave him a little weak brandy and water, which he drank with the
greatest eagerness, and made sign to me for more of it. But not knowing
how far it was right to give cordial under the circumstances, I handed
him unmixed water that time; thinking that he was too far gone to
perceive the difference. But herein I wrong Tom Faggus; for he shook his
head and frowned at me. Even at the door of death, he would not drink
what Adam drank, by whom came death into the world. So I gave him a
little more eau-de-vie, and he took it most submissively.

After that he seemed better, and a little colour came into his cheeks;
and he looked at Winnie and knew her; and would have her nose in his
clammy hand, though I thought it not good for either of them. With the
stay of my arm he sat upright, and faintly looked about him; as if at
the end of a violent dream, too much for his power of mind. Then he
managed to whisper, 'Is Winnie hurt?'

'As sound as a roach,' I answered. 'Then so am I,' said he: 'put me upon
her back, John; she and I die together.'

Surprised as I was at this fatalism (for so it appeared to me), of which
he had often shown symptoms before (but I took them for mere levity),
now I knew not what to do; for it seemed to me a murder