“He’s not down yet, my lady,” said the woman.
“Very well: ask him not to wait when he does come. The gentlemen are weary after the troubles of a very anxious night.”
The woman went away, and Lady Royland returned to her seat, to bend over her son again as he lay there breathing evenly, still plunged in his deep sleep; and then at its stated intervals, the clock in the gate-way chimed, and chimed, and struck, and struck again, to mark off the second hour before there was another tap at the door, and the maid announced in a whisper that Sergeant Martlet was asking for Captain Roy.
“Send him here,” said her ladyship, “and bid him come in gently.”
“Yes, my lady,” said the woman; “and, if you please, my lady, Master Pawson has just come down, and is having his breakfast.”
“Very good,” said Lady Royland, coldly, and the maid retired.
Five minutes later, the old soldier, fully armed, came softly to the door, was admitted, and stood upon the thick carpet, saluting his lady. She pointed to the couch, and a grim smile of satisfaction crossed the soldier’s deeply-lined face.
“He was quite worn-out and exhausted,” said Lady Royland, in a whisper, as she crossed to where Ben stood,—“too faint and troubled with the cares and anxieties of this weary business even to eat.”
“But he has slept, my lady?” whispered Ben.
“Ever since.”