"I shall indeed," said Prosper. "Farewell, I am for my luck at
Waisford."
"I would come with you if I might," said the man slowly.
"Come then. Two go better than one against five hundred."
"Let me bury my pretty dead and I am yours, Messire."
"Ah, I will help you there if I may," Prosper replied.
They dug a shallow grave and laid in it the body of the young girl. Prosper never saw her face, nor did her husband dare to look again on what he had covered up. Prosper said the prayers; but the other lay on his face on the grass, and got up tearless. Then they set off.
Five miles below Waisford they swam the river without any trouble from Galors' outposts: a wary canter over turf brought them to the flank of the hill; they climbed it, and from the top could see the Wan valley and what should be the town. It was a heap of stones, scorched and shapeless. The church tower still stood for a mockery, its conical cap of shingles had fallen in, its vane stuck out at an angle. Prosper, whose eyes were good, made out a flag-staff pointing the perpendicular. It had a flag, Party per pale argent and sable. A dun smoke hung over the litter.
"We shall do little good there," said he; "we are some days too late.
We will try Wanmeeting."
Agreed. They fetched a wide detour to the north-west, climbed the long ridge of rock which binds Hauterive to the place of their election, and made way along the overside of it, taking to cover as much as they could. By six o'clock in the evening they were as near as they dared to be until nightfall. As they stood they could see the ridge rear its ragged head to watch over the cleft where-through the two Wans race to be free. Upon the slope of this bluff was the town itself, a walled town the colour of the bare rock, with towers and belfries. The westering sun threw the whole into warmth and mellow light.
"The saltire still floats," cried Prosper; "we are not too late for this time."