‘You have escaped?’ said she.

‘If you call this escape,’ I replied.

‘But you cannot possibly stop there!’ she cried.

‘I know it,’ said I.  ‘And where am I to go?’

She struck her hands together.  ‘I have it!’ she exclaimed.  ’Come down by the beech trunk—­you must leave no footprint in the border--quickly, before Robie can get back!  I am the hen-wife here:  I keep the key; you must go into the hen-house—­for the moment.’

I was by her side at once.  Both cast a hasty glance at the blank windows of the cottage and so much as was visible of the garden alleys; it seemed there was none to observe us.  She caught me by the sleeve and ran.  It was no time for compliments; hurry breathed upon our necks; and I ran along with her to the next corner of the garden, where a wired court and a board hovel standing in a grove of trees advertised my place of refuge.  She thrust me in without a word; the bulk of the fowls were at the same time emitted; and I found myself the next moment locked in alone with half a dozen sitting hens.  In the twilight of the place all fixed their eyes on me severely, and seemed to upbraid me with some crying impropriety.  Doubtless the hen has always a puritanic appearance, although (in its own behaviour) I could never observe it to be more particular than its neighbours.  But conceive a British hen!

CHAPTER VIII—­THE HEN-HOUSE

I was half an hour at least in the society of these distressing bipeds, and alone with my own reflections and necessities.  I was in great pain of my flayed hands, and had nothing to treat them with; I was hungry and thirsty, and had nothing to eat or to drink; I was thoroughly tired, and there was no place for me to sit.  To be sure there was the floor, but nothing could be imagined less inviting.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, my good-humour was restored.  The key rattled in the lock, and Master Ronald entered, closed the door behind him, and leaned his back to it.

‘I say, you know!’ he said, and shook a sullen young head.

‘I know it’s a liberty,’ said I.

‘It’s infernally awkward:  my position is infernally embarrassing,’ said he.

‘Well,’ said I, ‘and what do you think of mine?’

This seemed to pose him entirely, and he remained gazing upon me with a convincing air of youth and innocence.  I could have laughed, but I was not so inhumane.

‘I am in your hands,’ said I, with a little gesture.  ’You must do with me what you think right.’

‘Ah, yes!’ he cried:  ‘if I knew!’

‘You see,’ said I, ’it would be different if you had received your commission.  Properly speaking, you are not yet a combatant; I have ceased to be one; and I think it arguable that we are just in the position of one ordinary gentleman to another, where friendship usually comes before the law.  Observe, I only say arguable.  For God’s sake, don’t think I wish to dictate an opinion.  These are the sort of nasty little businesses, inseparable from war, which every gentleman must decide for himself.  If I were in your place—­ ’