He knew that his friend Walter was in the Royalist army, for one of the last mails which entered the city had told him that he was to accompany his father, and that Captain Davenant's troop would most likely form part of any army that might march for the north.
By the morning, his clothes had dried upon him, and he then boldly entered the Royalist camp, mingling with the peasants who were bringing in provisions for sale.

He soon learned where Captain Davenant's troop was stationed, and made his way thither.

He stood watching for some time until he saw Walter come out of a tent, and he then approached him.
Walter looked up, but did not recognize, in the thin and pallid lad before him, his former companion.
"Do you want anything ?" he asked.
"Don't you know me, Walter ?" John said.
Walter started, and gazed at him earnestly.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed at last.

"Why, it can't be John!" "It is what remains of me," John replied, with a faint smile.
"Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, John ?" "I have been starving, in there," John said, pointing to the city.
"Come into the tent, John," Walter said, grasping his friend's arm, and then letting it fall again, with an exclamation of horror at its thinness.

"You needn't be afraid.