There was a little dry ground round the church, a mere patch in a sea of water, but my horse rang its hoofs on it with every sign of joy, and arched its neck as it trotted up to the neighborhood of the church, whinnying with pleasure. From the back of the building, I was not surprised, came an answering neigh. As I pulled up, a man, his weapon in his hand, came from the porch, and a woman followed him. I called to them gayly. "I fancied you would be here the moment I saw the church!" I said, sliding to the ground.
"Thank Heaven you are safe!" the Duchess answered, and to my astonishment she flung her arms round my neck and kissed me. "What has happened?" she asked, looking in my eyes, her own full of tears.
"I think I have stopped them," I answered, turning suddenly shy, though, boylike, I had been longing a few minutes before to talk of my victory. "They tried to cross, and----"
I had not sheathed my sword. Master Bertie caught my wrist, and, lifting the blade, looked at it. "So, so!" he said nodding. "Are you hurt?"
"Not touched!" I answered. Before more was said he compelled his wife to go back into the porch. The wind blew keenly across the open ground, and we were all wet and shivering. When we had fastened up the horse we followed her. The door of the church was locked, it seemed, and the porch afforded the best shelter to be had. Its upper part was of open woodwork, and freely admitted the wind; but wide eaves projected over these openings, and over the door, so that at least it was dry within. By huddling together on the floor against the windward side we got some protection. I hastily told what had happened.
"So Clarence is gone!" My lady's voice as she said the words trembled, but not in sorrow or pity as I judged. Rather in relief. Her dread and hatred of the man were strange and terrible, and so seemed to me then. Afterward, I learned that something had passed between them which made almost natural such feelings on her part, and made natural also a bitter resentment on his. But of that no more. "You are quite sure," she said--pressing me anxiously for confirmation--"that it was he!"
"Yes. But I am not sure that he is dead," I explained.
"You seem to bear a charmed life yourself," she said.
"Hush!" cried her husband quickly. "Do not say that to the lad. It is unlucky. But do you think," he continued--the porch was in darkness, and we could scarcely make out one another's faces--"that there is any further chance of pursuit?"
"Not by that party to-night," I said grimly. "Nor I think to-morrow."