Aymery’s fingers twisted themselves into his horse’s mane.
“Still, a little breathing. They have put her to bed.”
Marpasse nodded.
“I have no great hope——”
“The devil will make sure of that,” said Marpasse; “he loves a nunnery,” and she grimaced.
Aymery walked his horse along the track, but Marpasse did not follow him. She stood there morosely, biting her lip, and holding Aymery’s wallet in her hands. He glanced back, and finding that she had not moved, he reined in again and waited.
Marpasse came on slowly, one hand in the wallet, her eyes on the grass. When she had rejoined Aymery she stopped and stood unsolicitous and silent. The man appeared to be considering something. Yet he saw that the woman’s face was hard and gloomy in the twilight.
“What are your plans?” he asked suddenly.
Marpasse stared.
“A ditch has often served me well enough, lording. We strollers count for little.”