They were near the gate of Windyhough now, and Rupert, hearing hoofs behind him at last, turned quickly. The familiar eagerness came to his face at sight of her--the instant pleasure, followed by a hint of pain; the homage that was there to be read plainly by any onlooker. “So this is the King’s business you have been about?” said Nance, looking down at him with a tenderness that set his blood on fire. “Why, yes. I said there was no mystery about it. Since you told me you could not trust your men to shoot straight----” “Oh, Rupert, I was foolish; I did not mean it. I was out of heart that day, and temper got the better of me.” “But it was true. I had fancied that, if the attack came, it would be enough to fire one’s musket and trust to Providence for marksmanship. It was a daft thought, Nance, was it not? It was shirking trouble.” Nance got down from the saddle, gave the reins to Simon Foster. “Take him to the stable, Simon,” she said. “He has carried me well, and deserves a double feed.” She wished to be alone with Rupert and the other’s presence seemed an irritating check on speech. And yet, when Simon had left them, they stood looking at each other in troubled silence. Each was in a tense, restless mood, and their trouble only gathered weight by the companionship. “Did you find it hard--this learning how to shoot?” she asked at last. “It was easier than knowing you could not trust me, Nance, to guard you.” The old, whimsical self-derision was in his voice. He had learned at least to carry his hurts bravely. And she could find no words. There was some quality in Rupert--of manliness--that touched her now with an emotion deep and poignant, and clean as tempered steel. “The pity of it!” she murmured, after another long, uneasy silence. “To prepare so well for an attack that cannot come----” “But it may come, Nance. These last days--I cannot tell you why--I have not felt that all was make-believe, as I did at first.” “How should it come, Rupert? They are so far away--near London, surely, now----” “How will it come? I do not know. But I know that I have asked for it--asked patiently, Nance--and faith must be answered one day.” “My dear,” she said, “you are so--so oddly staunch, and so unpractical.” And her voice broke, and she could get no farther. And Rupert smiled gravely, touched her hand, as a courtier might, and limped up toward the house. Nance stood there awhile, with long thoughts for company. Then, seeking a respite from her mood, she crossed the stables to give a carrot to the fiddle-headed horse; but she got no farther than the corner of the yard. At the stable-door, deaf to all sounds from the outward world and careless of the many windows looking out on them, Simon Foster and Martha were standing hand in hand. Martha’s face was rose-red and smiling, her lover’s full of an amazing foolishness.