"Is that you, Roger?" he asked. It was not light enough to discern faces.
The shorter figure to which he addressed himself did not answer. The other, advancing a pace and reining up, spoke.
"No," he said, in a tone that at once veiled and exposed his triumph, "I am the Captain of Vlaye. And you are my prisoner."
CHAPTER XIX.
[THE CAPTAIN OF VLAYE's CONDITION.]
The four who looked to the door of the Duke's hut, and waited for the news, were not relieved as quickly as they expected. When men return with no news they are apt to forget that others are less wise than themselves; and where, with something to impart, they had flown to relieve the anxious, they are prone to forget that the negative has its value for those who are in suspense.
Hence some minutes elapsed before Roger presented himself. And when he came and they cried breathlessly, "Well, what news?" his answer was a look of reproach.
"Should I not have come at once if there had been any?" he said. "Alas, there is none."
"But you must have some!" they cried.
"Nothing," he answered, almost sullenly. "All we know is that they quarrelled over their prisoners. The hill above the ford is a shambles."