And Lady Royd was wide awake now. Not only the husband, but the lover, had returned. “I shall have to take care of you, Jasper,” she said, with the woman’s need to be protective when she is happy. “You’ll need nursing, and——”
“I need sleep,” growled Sir Jasper—“just a few hours’ sleep, Agnes, and—and forgetfulness of Derby.”
“Ah, sleep! That has been our need, too. We—we none of us went out with you, Jasper—but we kept the house. And we learned what sleep means—more than food or drink, more than any gift that we can ask.”
It is in the hurried, perilous moments that men come to understanding. Sir Jasper, by the little said and the much left unsaid, knew that his wife, according to her strength, had taken a brave part in this enterprise.
“You talk of what old campaigners know,” he said.
And there was a little, pleasant silence; and after that Lady Royd looked into her husband’s face.
“You are home again—to stay until your wound is healed?” she asked.
“No, my dear. I take the road to-morrow. The Prince needs me.”
She turned her face to the wall. And temptation played like a windy night about Sir Jasper, taking him at the ebb of his strength, as all cowards do. He was more weak of body than she guessed; he had given really of himself, and surely he had earned a little ease, a sitting by the hearth while he told his wife, this once again, what was in his heart for her.
And his wife turned suddenly. Her eyes were radiant with the faith that siege had taught her—siege, and the reek of gunpowder, and the way men carried themselves in the face of the bright comrade, danger.