“True,” said Lady Royd; “but you ask me for my husband, and I’m loth to part with him. Not all the pipes in Scotland may comfort me after—after this fight that you say is brewing up.”
Sir Jasper glanced at her. He had followed her whimsies with great chivalry and patience for six-and-twenty years, because it happened that he loved her, once for all; but he had not heard, till now, this answering care for his safety, this foolish and tempestuous wish to keep him by her side.
Oliphant of Muirhouse understood their mood. He had ridden through the lonely places, counting life cheap; and such men grow quick of intuition. “Your husband?” he echoed. “I only claim his promises. He’ll return to you, after paying pleasant debts.”
“Ah! but will he return?”
The messenger was surprised again into open confession of his faith. “One way or another you will meet—yes. The good God sees to that,” he answered gravely. “And now, Sir Jasper, we’ve talked enough, and my bed lies ten miles farther on. Your roads are quagmires—the only bad things I’ve found yet in Lancashire.”
“But, Oliphant, you’ll stay the night here? I’ll call you at daybreak if needs must.”
“I’ll sleep—a little later, friend—and at your house another day.”
His smile was easy as he bade farewell to Lady Royd and gripped his host’s hand for a moment; but Sir Jasper saw him stumble a little as he made towards the door.
“How far have you ridden to-day?” he asked sharply.
“Oh, fifty miles, no more—with a change of horses. Why d’ye ask?” said Oliphant, turning in some surprise.