!Tention Part 18

"Very," said Pen thoughtfully. "Pain gone off?"

"Yes; I am all right now. Think she will come back soon?"

"No, not for hours and hours."

"Oh, I say, Pen. Think it would be safe for me to go to sleep?"

"Yes, quite."

"Then I think I will, for I feel as if I could sleep for a week."

"Go to sleep then. It's the best thing you can do."

"Well, I will. Only, promise me one thing: if she comes while I'm asleep, I--I--want you--promise--promise--wake--"

"Poor fellow!" said Pen, "he's as weak as weak. But that breakfast has been like life to him. Well, there's some truth in what they say, that when things come to the worst they begin to mend."

A few minutes later, after noting that his poor wounded comrade had sunk into a deep sleep, Pen stole gently out among the trees, keeping a sharp lookout for danger as he swept the slopes of the valley in search of signs of the enemy, for he felt that it was too much to hope for the dark-green or scarlet of one of their own men.

But the valley now seemed thoroughly deserted, and a restful feeling began to steal through the lad's being, for everything looked peaceful and beautiful, and as if the horrors of war had never visited the land.

The sun was rising higher, and he was glad to take shelter beneath the rugged boughs of a gnarled old cork-tree, where he stood listening to the low, soft, musical murmur of the fall. And as he pictured the clear, bright, foaming water flas.h.i.+ng back the sun's rays, and in imagination saw the shadowy forms of the trout darting here and there, he took a step or two outward, but checked himself directly and turned back to where he could command the door of the hut, for a feeling of doubt crossed his mind as to what might happen if he went away; and before long he stole back to the side of the rough pallet, where he found Punch sleeping heavily, feeling, as he seated himself upon a rough stool, that he could do nothing more but wait and watch. But it was with a feeling of hope, for there was something to look forward to in the coming of the peasant-girl.

"And that can't be for hours yet," thought the lad; and then his mind drifted off to England, and the various changes of his life, and the causes of his being there. And then, as he listened to the soft hum of insect-life that floated through the open door, his eyelids grew heavy as if he had caught the drowsy infection from his companion. Weak as he was from light feeding, he too dropped asleep, so that the long, weary time that he had been wondering how he should be able to pa.s.s was but as a minute, for the sun was setting when he next unclosed his eyes, to meet the mirthful gaze of Punch, who burst into a feeble laugh as he exclaimed, "Why, you have been asleep!"

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A RUSTLE AMONG THE TREES.

"Asleep!" cried Pen, starting up and hurrying to the door.

"Yes; I have been watching ever so long. I woke up hours ago, all in a fright, thinking that gal had come back; and I seemed to see her come in at the door and look round, and then go again."

"Ah, you saw her!" said Pen, looking sharply to right and left as if in expectation of some trace of her coming.

"No," said Punch, "it's no use to look. I have done that lots of times.

Hurt my shoulder, too, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g myself round. She ain't been and left nothing."

"But you saw her?" cried Pen.

"Well," said Punch, in a hesitating way, "I did and I didn't, like as you may say. She seemed to come; not as I saw her at first--I only felt her, like. It was the same as I seemed to see things when I have been off my head a bit."

"Yes," said Pen, "I understand."

"Do you?" said Punch dreamily. "Well, I don't. I didn't see her, only it was like a shadow going out of the door; but I feel as sure as sure that she came and stood close to me for ever so long, and I think I saw her back as she went out; and then I quite woke up and lay and listened, hoping that she would come again."

"I hope it was only a dream, Punch," said Pen; "but I had no business to go to sleep like that."

"Why not? You waren't on sentry-go; and there was nothing to do."

"I ought to have kept awake."

"No, you oughtn't. I was jolly glad to see you sleep; and I lay here and thought of what a lot of times you must have kept awake and watched over me when I was so bad, and--Here, whatcher going to do?"

"Going away till you have done talking nonsense."

"Oh, all right. I won't say no more. You are such a touchy chap.

Don't go away. Give us a drink."

"Ah, now you are talking sense," said Pen, as he made for the shelf upon which the little wooden vessel stood. "Here, Punch," he said, "you mustn't drink this. It has turned sour."

"Jolly glad of it. Chuck it away and fetch me a good drink of water.

Only, I say, I'd give it a good rinse out first."

"Yes," said Pen dryly, "I think it would be as well. Now, you don't think that I should have given you water out of a dirty pail?"

"Well, how should I know?" said the boy querulously. "But, where are you going to get it from?"

"Out of the pool just below the waterfall."

"Ah, it will be nice and cool from there," said the boy, pa.s.sing his tongue over his dry lips. "I was afraid that you might get it from where the sun had been on it all day."

"Were you?" said Pen, smiling.

"Here, I say, don't grin at a fellow like that," said the boy peevishly.

"You do keep catching a chap up so. Oh, I am so thirsty! It's as if I had been eating charcoal cinders all day; and my wound's all as hot and dry as if it was being burnt."

"Yes, I had no business to have been asleep," said Pen. "I'll fetch the water, and when you have had a good drink I will bathe your wound."

"Ah, do; there's a good chap. But don't keep on in that aggravating way, saying you oughtn't to have gone to sleep. I wanted you to go to sleep; and it wasn't a dream about her coming and looking at me while I was asleep. I dessay my eyes were shut, but I felt somebody come, and it only aggravates me for you to say n.o.body did."

"Then I won't say it any more, Punch," cried Pen as he hurried out of the door. "But you dreamt it, all the same," he continued to himself as he hurried along the track in the direction of the fall, keeping a sharp lookout the while, partly in search of danger, partly in the faint hope that he might catch sight of their late compa.s.sionate visitor, who might be on the way bearing a fresh addition to their scanty store.

But he encountered no sign of either friend or enemy. One minute he was making his way amongst the gnarled cork-trees, the next he pa.s.sed out to where the soft, deep, lulling, musical sound of the fall burst upon his ears; and soon after he was upon his knees drinking deeply of the fresh, cool water, before rinsing out and carefully filling the wooden _seau_, which he was in the act of raising from the pool when he started, for there was a movement amongst the bushes upon the steep slope on the other side of the falls.

Pen's heart beat heavily, for, fugitive as he was, the rustling leaves suggested an enemy bent upon taking aim at him or trapping him as a prisoner.

He turned to make his way back to the hut, and then as the water splashed from the little wooden pail, he paused.

"What a coward I am!" he muttered, and, sheltering himself among the trees, he began to thread his way between them towards where he could pa.s.s among the rocks that filled the bed of the stream below the falls so as to reach the other side and make sure of the cause of the movement amidst the low growth.

"I dare say it was only goats," he said. "Time enough to run when I see a Frenchman; but I wish I had brought my piece."

Keeping a sharp lookout for danger, he reached the other side of the little river, and then climbed up the rocky bank, gained the top in safety, and once more started violently, for he came suddenly upon a goat which was browsing amongst the bushes and sprang out in alarm.

"Yes, I am a coward!" muttered the lad with a forced laugh; and, stepping back directly, he lowered himself down the bank, recrossed the stream, filled the little pail, and made his way to where his wounded companion was waiting for him impatiently.