"
"Moral again," Helm interposed; "keep on the good side of the
French!"
"That's sensible talk, sir," assented Barlow.
"Bah!" exclaimed Hamilton. "You might as well talk of keeping on
the good side of the American traitors--a bloody murrain seize the
whole race!"
"That's what I say," chimed in the Lieutenant, with a sly look at
Helm.
"They have been telling me a cock-and-bull story concerning the
affair at the Roussillon cabin," Hamilton said, changing his
manner. "What is this about a disguised and wonderful man who
rushed in and upset the whole of you. I want no romancing; give me
the facts."
Barlow's dissolute countenance became troubled.
"The facts," he said, speaking with serious deliberation, "are not
clear. It was like a clap of thunder, the way that man performed.
As you say, he did fling the whole squad all of a heap, and it was
done that quickly," he snapped his thumb and finger
demonstratively with a sharp report; "nobody could understand it."
Hamilton looked at his subaltern with a smile of unlimited
contempt and said:
"A pretty officer of His Majesty's army, you are, Lieutenant
Barlow! First a slip of a girl shows herself your superior with
the sword and wounds you, then a single man wipes up the floor of
a house with you and your guard, depriving you at the same time of
both vision and memory, so that you cannot even describe your
assailant!"
"He was dressed like a priest," muttered Barlow, evidently
frightened at his commander's scathing comment.
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