"That boy's had as much as he can stand," said the guard who had questioned.
"What, a'ready?" laughed his mate.
"Not beer, you fool—travel. He's extended—he will hardly reach another yard."
The fact was wholly, the reasoning partly true. Doubt had lain as dregs at the bottom of the draught which had fed her. Now she was at the lees—brought so low that she had to depend upon the worth of her news for assurance of a hearing. True, she had asked no more, nor looked for it—but you cannot tame hopes. A dry patch in her throat burned like fire, but she fought her way. He was close: she could see the keen light in his eyes. Alas! alas! he looked for Roy. A thick tide of despair came surging over her, closing in, beating at her temples for entrance. She lost her sight, fluttered a very rag in the wind, held out her hands for a balance. Prosper saw her feeling about like a blind man. He quickened.
"Danger! danger!" she breathed, and fell at his feet.
He picked her up as if she had been a baby and carried her into the house. As he passed the guards one of them came forward to help.
"The lad's been pushed beyond his strength, my lord," the man ventured.
"So I see," said Prosper, and shook him off. The business must be got through alone.
"A great gentleman," said the man to his mate. "But he fags his servants."
"Bless you, Jack, they like it!" the other assured him, with a laugh at the weakness of his own kind.