Part 48 (1/2)

”What is it, my daughter? What do you see?”

”I see nothing, father.”

”What is it then that disturbs you?”

”I hear, father.”

”What do you hear?”

”There are hors.e.m.e.n on the road.”

The old knight laughed. ”So it goes on, father. What day is there that a hundred hors.e.m.e.n do not pa.s.s our gate, and yet every clink of hoofs sets her poor heart a-trembling. So strong and steadfast she has ever been, my Mary, and now no sound too slight to shake her to the soul! Nay, daughter, nay, I pray you!”

She had half-risen from her chair, her hands clenched and her dark, startled eyes still fixed upon the window. ”I hear them, father! I hear them amid the wind and the rain! Yes, yes, they are turning--they have turned! My G.o.d, they are at our very door!”

”By Saint Hubert, the girl is right!” cried old Sir John, beating his fist upon the board. ”Ho, varlets, out with you to the yard! Set the mulled wine on the blaze once more! There are travelers at the gate, and it is no night to keep a dog waiting at our door. Hurry, Hannekin!

Hurry, I say, or I will haste you with my cudgel!”

Plainly to the ears of all men could be heard the stamping of the horses. Mary had stood up, quivering in every limb. An eager step at the threshold, the door was flung wide, and there in the opening stood Nigel, the rain gleaming upon his smiling face, his cheeks flushed with the beating of the wind, his blue eyes s.h.i.+ning with tenderness and love.

Something held her by the throat, the light of the torches danced up and down; but her strong spirit rose at the thought that others should see that inner holy of holies of her soul. There is a heroism of women to which no valor of man can attain. Her eyes only carried him her message as she held out her hand.

”Welcome, Nigel!” said she.

He stooped and kissed it.

”Saint Catharine has brought me home,” said he.