“Then put these things away from you till these troubles are past. At least let me have you to think of and fight for. Afterwards we will speak of them again.”
She assented gladly.
“Only I want you to know, Ughtred,” she said, “that I will never become your wife if it is to lessen your hold upon your people here. I wish they could know it. Some of these poor wounded soldiers look at me as if I were their enemy. Why, it is terrible.”
He smiled reassuringly.
“When the war is over we will talk of this seriously,” he answered. “Listen.”
He threw up the blind. It was still dark and apparently raining, but away eastwards there was a break in the clouds, and the stars were paler. In the courtyard below a carriage was waiting. He dropped the blind hastily, picked up his cloak.
“I must go, Sara,” he declared. “Wish me luck, dear.”
She clung to him with suddenly swimming eyes. Her lips trembled—her face was very wistful.
“Oh, my dear! My dear,” she cried, softly, “if only I could bring you luck. If only I could be your mascotte.”
He laughed cheerily. His arms were around her, and she was comforted.