"I have not been fighting, I regret to say. My turn for that will no doubt come. I have been long a prisoner."
"And you have obtained your release?"
"The Emperor has consented to my return home."
Mrs. Bryce held up both hands.
"That is excessive gracious of him, truly. You are more fortunate than many. Roy Baron was not so well off, and he had to make his escape. But he has been since in the campaign in Portugal and Spain, under our great Commander, Sir John Moore. A truly melancholy story that, sir; yet he died as a soldier would choose to die, covered with glory. And Roy—Mr. Baron, I should say—is now back with us for a little space; and we, his friends, fondly think he has done well. But will you allow me to offer you cake and wine? You have a very weary look." She peered at him, from near at hand. "What can Drake be about not to bring in the lights?" Her hand was on the bell.
Denham was gazing earnestly towards Polly, so earnestly that she could not but return the gaze. A thrill ran through her, for there was no mistaking that voice. Molly took upon herself to put a pointed question.
"Have you come from Verdun, sir, if I might ask?"
"Pray take a seat, sir," Mrs. Bryce was entreating. She might as well have spoken to stone walls.
"I am straight from Verdun," Ivor replied.
"Then, sir, doubtless you will bring messages for us all from the unfortunate prisoners there detained," said Mrs. Bryce, not grasping his identity with one of those prisoners.