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Dick stooped to the window and looked in. The little cell was low and
dark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his
pallet.
"Carter, poor friend, how goeth it?" he asked.
"Master Shelton," returned the man, in an excited whisper, "for the dear
light of heaven, bring the priest. Alack, I am sped; I am brought very
low down; my hurt is to the death. Ye may do me no more service; this
shall be the last. Now, for my poor soul's interest, and as a loyal
gentleman, bestir you; for I have that matter on my conscience that shall
drag me deep."
He groaned, and Dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or
terror.
Just then Sir Daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall. He had a
letter in one hand.
"Lads," he said, "we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore,
then, deny it? Rather it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle. This
old Harry the Sixt has had the undermost. Wash we, then, our hands of
him. I have a good friend that rideth next the duke, the Lord of
Wensleydale. Well, I have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good
lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable
surety for the future. Doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear. A
prayer without gifts is like a song without music: I surfeit him with
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