Kit returned to find Lady Ingilby with a smoking pistol in her hand. Her voice was tremulous.
"Sir, if this is to feel as men do—ah, thank the good God I was born a woman. I aimed truly, and—and I have no pride in it."
Through the sunrise and the hot, moist scent of flowering hedgerows they made their way down the narrow farm-track which was henceforth to be known as Rupert's Lane. At the ditch and the battered hedgerow where Cromwell's horse had been driven back, a man on foot asked sharply who went there.
"Lady Ingilby, come to see whether her husband lives or is dead for the King."
"'Lady Ingilby, come to see whether her husband lives or is dead for the King.'"
"I cannot tell you, madam. There are so many dead, on both sides of the battle."
"But I must know. Give us free conduct through the lines, my friend here and myself; it is a little thing to ask."
The Parliament man was muffled in a great-coat, an unwieldy hat drawn over his eyes. But Christopher knew him, though Ingilby's wife, her heart set on one errand only, saw beyond and through him, scarce knowing he was there save as an obstacle to progress down the lane.
"It is granted," said the Roundhead, "if you permit me to bandage your eyes until we come to the place where Sir William fought. I know the place, because our men brought in high tales of his strength and courage."