He mounted the stairs, and as he came into the light cast by a sconce of candles Judith saw that his face was grey with fatigue, and his embroidered ball dress, which he still wore, saturated with rain and mud, a tear in one sleeve and the wristband of his shirt stained with blood.
"You are hurt!" she said quickly.
"No, I assure you I am not. Nothing but a cut from a bayonet: it scarcely broke the skin. I am only sleepy, and very hungry, upon my honour!"
"You shall have dinner the instant you are out of those wet clothes," she promised, taking his hand between both of hers and clasping it for a moment. "You are worn out! Oh, dear Charles, the relief of knowing you to be safe!"
She could say no more; he smiled, but seemed to have no energy to waste in answering her. Worth took him by the arm and led him towards the second pair of stairs. "Come along!" he said. "The appearance you present is quite appalling, believe me!"
Judith ran back into the salon and tugged at the bell pull. Barbara was standing just inside the door, watching Colonel Audley as he mounted the stairs to his bedroom. She said with a shaky laugh: "His beautiful ball dress quite ruined! When I think how smart he was, only two nights ago, it makes me want to weep! Was there ever anything so confoundedly silly?"
Upstairs, Worth rang the bell for his valet, and began to help the Colonel to peel off his sodden coat. Through the torn sleeve of a shirt that was clinging to his body could be seen a strip of sticking-plaster, covering a slash upon the upper arm. The blood had dried upon the shirtsleeve, and Audley winced a little as he stripped the shirt off.
"I take it that's not serious?" said Worth.
"Good God, no! A scratch."
"How did you come by it?"