The dissensions between the Irish commanders still continued, and, beyond Sarsfield’s raid against the battering train, nothing was done to annoy the enemy in the rear, although, had any vigour been shown, the Irish army lying idle west of the Shannon could have moved across, and speedily starved out William’s army by cutting off all supplies.  Even as it was, provisions could only be collected by sending out strong bodies of troops to plunder the country; for the peasantry had been goaded into fury by the evil conduct of the troops, and were now in a state of insurrection, cutting off and murdering all stragglers, and driving in small parties.

William had good reason to regret that he had brought with him so small a contingent of British troops, owing to his doubts whether they could be depended upon, and his poor opinion of their bravery; for, since the days of Agincourt, English troops had been seldom seen on the Continent, and were consequently held but in small esteem there.  He had with him now a regiment of English grenadiers, and a few line regiments, but the bulk of the army was composed of his Dutch troops and foreign mercenaries.  The latter had shown, at the battle of the Boyne, that their courage was not of a high order, while their excesses had not only produced a bitter feeling of hatred against them throughout the country, but had done immense harm to the cause, by rendering it next to impossible to obtain provisions.

Walter’s progress towards recovery, from the day when he recovered consciousness, was very rapid.  The fever, though severe, had been short, and he gained strength almost as rapidly as he had lost it.  The morning after he had come to himself, Mrs. Conyers brought Claire in to see him.

“Here is a young lady who is very anxious to see how you are getting on, Walter,” she said cheerfully; “and, now you are going on so well, I shall hand you over a good deal to her care, as some of the others want my attention badly.  You must not talk much, you know, else we shall be having you getting feverish again.”

So saying, she left the room.

Claire had stopped timidly near the door.  The change which four days had made in Walter’s appearance shocked her, and she scarcely recognized, in the pale drawn face, the youth who had burst in, sword in hand, to her rescue on that terrible evening.  The tears were running fast down her cheeks, as she approached the couch.

“Why, what is the matter, Claire?” he asked.  “You must not cry.  I am all right again now, and in a week shall be on horseback, I hope.”

“Oh, Walter, what can I say?” she said.  “To think that you should have suffered so, for us!”

“There is nothing dreadful about it,” he said, smiling.  “A soldier must expect to get wounded, sometimes, and a slash from a German sword is not a serious matter.  I am only too glad that I got it in your cause, Claire—­only too glad that I was able to be of service to you—­and your mother,” he added in afterthought.  “It makes me very happy, to think I have been useful to you, only I would rather that you didn’t say anything more about it.  I am quite content and happy, as it is, and, if it had been my life, I would have gladly given it.”