"He is hurt. Thou must not waken him," she said.
Digby, with the reek of battle half cleared from his brain, looked upon her in the moonlight. In that moment perhaps he saw, kneeling by the wounded man, something greater in strength than the boy Tibbott, with whom he had jested and played, something greater in compassion even than the maid, Sybil Venner, that little Merrylips should one day be.
In any case, he came no farther into the room. Perhaps he dared not face what faced him there in the form of a little child. For an instant he stood with his hand upon the latch, and then he went forth again, and slammed and bolted the door behind him.
"What was't?" Dick Fowell whispered, and suddenly he tightened his grasp on Merrylips' hand.
"I dreamed," he whispered. "I dreamed—Miles Digby was come—to settle the old score."
"Think not of him," soothed Merrylips. "For he will not harm thee, Dick. I will not suffer him to do thee harm."
CHAPTER XXI
WHEN THE CAPTAIN CALLED
It was broad daylight, and once more the fire of muskets was sputtering along the walls of Monksfield, when at last Dick Fowell opened his eyes. He looked at Merrylips, and smiled, and when he smiled, his face grew boyish and winning.