124 A JACOBITE EXILE

“No; I have not heard anything about it,” Charlie
said.

“He offered a captain for you, which you may consider
a high honour.”

“Tt is, no doubt,” Charlie said with a smile. “TI suppose
his majesty thought, as it was in his special service I was
caught, he was bound to get me released if he could.”

“Tt was a hunting party, was it not?”

“Ves. There was only the king with four of his officers
there, and my company of foot and fifty horse. I don’t
think I can call it an escort, for we went principally as
beaters.”

“Rustoff missed a grand chance there, Kelly. What
regiment do you belong to?” And he again turned to
Charlie.

“The Malmoe Regiment. The company is commanded
by an English gentleman, who is a neighbour and great
friend of my father. His son is an ensign, and my greatest
friend. ‘The men are all either Scotch or English, but most
of them Scotch.”

“They are good soldiers the Scotch; none better. There
are a good many in the Russian service, also in that of
Austria and France; they are always faithful and to be relied
upon even when native troops prove treacherous. And you
like Charles of Sweden?”

“There is not a soldier in his army but likes him,”
Charlie said enthusiastically. “He expects us to do much,
but he does more himself. All through the winter he did
everything in his power for us, riding long distances from
camp to camp to visit the sick and to keep up the spirits
of the men. If we live roughly so does he, and on the
march he will take his meals among the soldiers, and wrap
himself up in his cloak, and sleep on the bare ground just
as they do. And as for his bravery, he exposes his life
recklessly—too recklessly, we all think—and it seemed a