Ralph began to recover his senses as the chill air of night fanned his forehead, but as he awoke to the reality of life, a numbing sense of bitter pain passed through his heart. Where were all his friends? Where were those gallant four hundred who had gone in all the pride of strength and joyous manhood to win fame, and name, and fortune in the sunny land of France? Where was Dicky Cheke? Alas, poor Dicky! Did he need no ransom now? Had his thoughts come true? Was the only ransom he would ever require the great ransom paid for all? There they lay, with solemn upturned faces, whiter than their white tabards, and signed with the ruddy sign of their "deare Lord." The solemn stars shone for their funeral torches, and the rustling leaves of the deep, still forest whispered a dirge for the silent dead.
CHAPTER XXVII.
"OF THE CRAWLING TIDE."
What happened during the days immediately following the fatal battle of St Aubin du Cormier, Ralph Lisle never clearly knew. All he could remember was an indistinct nightmare of strange faces, rough and coarse, sometimes fierce and cruel, but amid them all he always saw a pale oval face, with large, wistful, brown eyes, and masses of wavy, dark hair, and then he felt quiet. He could recollect nothing until one night he seemed suddenly to awake, and found himself in a low, rough room, with a strong smell of burnt peat, and a fresh breeze blowing in through an opening in one side. It was nearly dark, save where the bright light of the moon fell upon the rude clay floor, all littered with straw and refuse. Through the opening, which served for window and door alike, he could see a broad gleam of glancing light which he did not trouble himself to think about. He wondered where he could be. There were no sounds in the room. He raised his head to look round. He could not do it. Was he still in a dream? he wondered. Why could he not move himself easily? He lay still again, and must have dozed off, for when he again looked round there were some figures in the room, and one--that of a girl--was softly stealing away from him towards a tall man, and he could hear her say in a low tone,--
"He is sleeping gently."
"That is well, my daughter, go thou to rest now. Marie will see that he is cared for."
Ralph made a little movement; the girl stopped, and looked round. There was a small rushlight on a table; its light fell on her face. Where had he seen that gentle, winsome head and eyes? Ralph said,--
"Where am I? What has happened? Why, what's come to my voice?"
"Oh, father, I am so glad!" cried the girl, and turned quickly back to the couch where Ralph lay. The tall man stepped across the room, taking the rushlight in his hand.
Ralph could not recall the face or figure; he felt sure he had never seen either, and yet he had heard the voice.