"I thank you for the advice and for the promise," said Barbara. "I can
think of no friend in Dorchester, and I am not sure that being a rebel
is not the more honourable position to-day."
"It means death."
"Well? Are there not worse things than death?"
"Truly, I think not. From all other ills a man may perchance recover,
but from death--never."
Barbara smiled. It was not likely that this man would understand.
"Think over my advice to-night," said Watson. "There are many in
Dorchester who might help you. Think to-night, and give me the names of
some friends to-morrow. I shall know whether they are in the town, and
would help you. To-morrow also I will seek for a new maid to serve you."
"Spare yourself that trouble," Barbara said as he went to the door. "So
short a service as I shall require is not worth anyone's taking."
Watson was a soldier, and in his way a good soldier. He would have faced
death at a moment's notice so long as he was well paid for doing so, and
would be loyal to those he served, unless perchance a very heavy bribe
were offered him and there was a reasonable probability of safety in
accepting it.
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