“I never notice the cuirass,” said Lady Royland, embracing her son again. “I only feel my boy’s warm, true heart beating against mine.”
She followed him to the door, and he turned and kissed her again, and then hurried away, depressing his sword-hilt to keep the steel end of the scabbard from clinking on the pavement.
“Why did I do that?” said Roy to himself. “It was not as if—as if—Oh, what nonsense! It’s the weather makes me feel low; and she feels low too. I was obliged to try and cheer her up.”
He mounted to the battlements, whence he entered the room over the guard-chamber where, according to custom now, Ben was waiting with his lighted lantern, and wearing his long cloak, one side of which he threw over the light when he took it up.
“All well, Ben?”
“All’s well, sir. Enemy as still as mice. I’m beginning to think that one of these mornings we shall get up and find they’ve gone without saying good-bye.”
“Hope you’re right, Ben. Ready?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Then march.”
They ascended to the top of the gate tower, where they were challenged, and then descended to the rampart to be challenged by the sentinel posted half-way between the towers, and again by the sentry on each tower in turn. It was everywhere the same. The men were well upon the lookout, and they had all the same report to give, that everything was still and nothing had been seen.