'For the love of God,' said the wounded man, as he heard Waverley's
step, 'give me a single drop of water!'
'You shall have it,' answered Waverley, at the same time raising him in
his arms, bearing him to the door of the hut, and giving him some drink
from his flask.
'I should know that voice,' said the man; but, looking on Waverley's
dress with a bewildered look,--'no, this is not the young squire!'
This was the common phrase by which Edward was distinguished on the
estate of Waverley-Honour, and the sound now thrilled to his heart with
the thousand recollections which the well-known accents of his native
country had already contributed to awaken. 'Houghton!' he said, gazing
on the ghastly features which death was fast disfiguring, 'can this be
you?'
'I never thought to hear an English voice again,' said the wounded man;
'they left me to live or die here as I could, when they found I would
say nothing about the strength of the regiment. But, oh, squire! how
could you stay from us so long, and let us be tempted by that fiend of
the pit, Ruffin?--we should have followed you through flood and fire, to
be sure.'
'Ruffin! I assure you, Houghton, you have been vilely imposed upon.
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