A soldier was accused of having been
found sleeping on guard; he was tried, found guilty, and condemned to be
shot. A corporal's guard was accompanying the doomed soldier from the
place where sentence had been pronounced against him to the
prison-house, from whence he was to be brought forth for execution on
the following day. Lieutenant Sim passed near them. A voice exclaimed--
"Master! master!--save me! save me!"
It was the voice of the condemned soldier. The lieutenant turned round,
and in the captive who called to him for assistance he recognised the
Devonshire wrestler--the strange portrait of himself. And even now, if
it were possible, the resemblance between them was more striking than
before; for, in the stranger, the awkwardness of the peasant had given
place to the smartness of the soldier. Charles had felt an interest in
him from the first moment he beheld him; he had wished to meet him
again, and had resolved to seek for him should he return to England; and
now the interest that he had before felt for him was increased tenfold.
The offence and the fate of the doomed one were soon told.
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