CHAPTER XIII
A DASH FOR FREEDOM

ICK awoke from a heavy, burning sleep, aching from

head to foot. The master-player, up and dressed,
stood by the window, scowling grimly out into the ashy
dawn. Nick made haste to rise, but could not stifle a
sharp cry of pain as he staggered to his feet, he was so
racked and sore with riding.

At the boy’s smothered cry Carew turned, and his dark
face softened with a sudden look of pity and concern.
“Why, Nick, my lad,” he cried, and hurried to his side,
“this is too bad, indeed!” and without more words took
him gently in his arms and carried him down to the court-
yard well, where he bathed him softly from neck to heel
in the cold, refreshing water, and wiped him with a soft,
clean towel as tenderly as if he had been the lad’s own
mother. And having dried him thoroughly, he rubbed him
with a waxy ointment that smelled of henbane and poppies,
until the aching was almost gone. So soft and so kind was
he withal that Nick took heart after a little and asked tim-
idly, “And ye will let me go home to-day, sir, will ye not?”

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