Page 186 - A Jacobite Exile

was being driven away.

He was now so hungry that he felt he could no longer maintain the
appearance of insensibility. Two men were talking in the room, and when,

for a moment, their conversation ceased, he gave a low groan, and then
opened his eyes. They came at once to his bedside, with exclamations of
satisfaction.

"How do you feel?" one asked in Swedish.

"I do not know," he said in a low tone. "Where am I, how did I get here?"

"You are with friends. Never mind how you got here. You have been ill,
but you will soon get well again. Someone hit you on the head, and we

picked you up and brought you here."

"I am weak and faint," Charlie murmured. "Have you any food?"

"You shall have some food, directly it is prepared. Take a drink of wine,

and see if you can eat a bit of bread while the broth is preparing."

Charlie drank a little of the wine that was put to his lips, and then broke up

the bread, and ate it crumb by crumb, as if it were a great effort to do so,
although he had difficulty in restraining himself from eating it voraciously.

When he had finished it, he closed his eyes again, as if sleep had
overpowered him. An hour later, there was a touch on his shoulder.

"Here is some broth, young fellow. Wake up and drink that, it will do you
good."

Charlie, as before, slowly sipped down the broth, and then really fell
asleep, for the jolting had fatigued him terribly.

It was evening when he awoke. Two men were sitting at a blazing fire.

When he moved, one of them brought him another basin of broth, and fed
him with a spoon.