Gilbert tried to make light of his condition, and said it was only the noise and shouting which had bewildered him.
"We lost sight of you after the troops cleared Queen's Square, Arundel. What became of you?"
"I got separated in the rush just by Wine Street, and there a woman and a baby were in some danger; and as I made a plunge to get them to a place of safety, someone gave me a chance thump on the head, and I might have been trampled to death had not a man saved me, in his turn to be cut down by the sabre of one of the soldiers; he now lies dying in the Infirmary; and the man, Joyce, is Bob Priday."
"He kept his promise, then." Joyce said, clasping her hands; "he kept his promise to me."
"Yes, darling, it was the touch of your little, white hand, he said, which brought to his heart the hope that God would forgive him."
Joyce, kneeling by the sofa where her husband lay, hid her face in the pillow, while Mr. Bengough and Mr. Cooper, his two friends, left the room with Mrs. Arundel, and promised to send a surgeon who lived near them in Berkley Square.
"He is as brave as a lion," Mr. Bengough said; "you may well be proud of your son."
The doctor came, and advised entire rest and quiet, and told Joyce that she might console herself with the certainty that her husband would be unfit for any action, as special constable for many a day to come.
How thankful Joyce felt that she had not left the house with her children, and that she was there to nurse and tend her husband with the thousand sweet observances which are the consolation of every true wife to render, in the hour of need.
The Sunday morning broke over an apparently quiet city, and as Joyce looked from the window of her room, after two hours of refreshing sleep, she could see no one moving in the distant streets, and heard no sound.