"Nay, I must take him back to his kinsfolk," replied Edgar decidedly. "Even then 'tis doubtful whether he will give me permission to ride back hither to engage in a private war on the side of a people at war with my countrymen. With all my heart I desire thy success and the deliverance of thy people, good father, but my duty is elsewhere. Press me not, I beg, but let me on."
The priest inclined his head. "Be it so," he said sadly. "Thou art still a friend though thou canst not, or wilt not, stand shoulder to shoulder with me in the conflict. Thou shall return as quickly as my help can compass it. We will not talk more of this matter; but let me see to thy master. A happy man is he to have won such unswerving loyalty."
With a touch as light and gentle as that of a woman, the priest tended the sick knight. His mind yet wandered, but he seemed to be easier than when Edgar and Peter had first entered his chamber in the donjon of Ruthènes. By some subtle means he seemed to know that he was now in friendly hands, and had grown more restful and contented.
For two days Edgar remained at the cave watching over Sir John. At the end of that time the priest pronounced the knight well enough to travel, and within a few hours a horse and cart were ready waiting in the road at the point nearest to the mountain refuge.
Sir John was placed upon the litter, gently carried to the cart, and there comfortably ensconced on a thick bed of dry leaves covered with a rug. Then with a most cordial farewell to Father Armand, Edgar mounted the cart and drove away. Peter rode alongside on one of their chargers, their second having been left behind as payment for the horse and cart. After six days' travelling by slow and easy stages they entered the gates of the city of Bordeaux.
During the first two days of the return journey, Sir John's mind still wandered. On the third day, however, to Edgar's great delight, he awoke with his mind clear and lucid, although he was still very weak and feeble. He said nothing more than a bare half-dozen words of greeting all that day, but seemed content to lie there and let his eyes wander from the lads' faces to cart and tree and sky, as though well satisfied to be where he was. The following day he showed more animation, and talked about the villages and scenery through which they passed. He said no word of Ruthènes, however, and appeared to wish to avoid the subject as if it were a painful one that he was anxious to put away from him as long as possible.
The day before the party reached Bordeaux, on Edgar mentioning that he hoped they would arrive in time to join the ladies just before they sat down to their midday meal, Sir John seemed to come to a sudden decision within himself. Struggling into a half-sitting posture upon his bed of leaves and rugs, he said in a firm and steady voice: "Edgar, I wish you now to tell me all--how you came to be at Ruthènes and how I came to be released. I have some fears that the story will bring me no credit, but I desire thee to tell me everything."
Although Edgar did not quite know what Sir John meant by his last remark, he took no notice, but told the whole story from the time of his setting out with Peter up to the last desperate dash to safety through the underground passage.
When he had finished, Sir John gave so deep a sigh of relief that Edgar could not help looking at him with some astonishment.
"Thou art surprised at my relief, lad," observed Sir John, with a faint smile. "Well, then, thou shalt know how it is my mind feels so relieved that I could almost shout for joy. Ever since I was able to think connectedly, I have had at the back of my mind the fear that away there in Ruthènes I had given way to the tortures and threats of De Maupas and Eustace de Brin--given way, and passed my knightly word to further their base schemes at the expense of my successors or of the lady Beatrice. How else could I account for my freedom save by supposing that I had played the dastard, and had been handed over to thee in payment of the debt and to complete the bond? Now ye tell me that I have been rescued and that my honour is still my own. Canst now understand my relief, Edgar? 'Tis more difficult for me to understand how thou couldst have rescued me. It seems marvellous to one who for days tramped frantically up and down his cell like a caged beast, impotent to find a way of escape."