Sir Jasper thought of his wife, her weak caprices, the yapping of the toy spaniel that had its mimic cradle in their bedroom at Windyhough--thought of Rupert, who should have been beside him now--thought of all that had hindered him through these years. For he was not as young as his keen ardour wished, and these empty days of bodily hardship, with no reward of fight to hearten them, had sapped his courage. Yet he responded, bravely enough, to the challenge. “My wife, God bless her! is--so dear that we’ll not give her any place, your Highness. She claims her own, by right.” The Prince puffed gently at the disreputable, blackened pipe he cherished. He glanced at the hills, saw the next storm creep grey and wan across the sunset lights. “It is a savage land,” he said dispassionately. “I never guessed it could breed courtiers. Your wife, if she were near, would be pleased to know the temper of your constancy--it is hard and lithe as whipcord, sir, like a sword-blade forged by old Andrew Ferrara.” They jogged on again, at the foot pace to which the Prince had trained himself since Derby; and presently they came to a broad, grassy lane that led, wide to the left hand, into the sunset moors. And Sir Jasper checked his horse and sat rigidly in saddle, looking up the byway. “What ails you?” asked the Prince. “Remembrance,” said Sir Jasper, turning his horse’s head away from the road it knew by heart. “It is no time for rosemary, you think? And yet----” “You talk in riddles.” “No, pardon me; I talk--of the road that leads to my own house of Windyhough--and to my wife--and to the son I left at home.” “Why, then, ride across and snatch a glimpse of them,” said the other, quick to respond to the need of a man’s heart. “And desert a retreating army, your Highness?” “There’s no desertion. We are near our quarters for the night--and nothing happens, as you know, in the way of sudden battles. Our luck is out just now. Go, see your wife, sir--you’ve earned the holiday--and then ride across country to Langton. We march from there at daybreak.” “I do not ask ease,” said Sir Jasper stubbornly. “We’re following the road of discipline, and wives, I think, must wait.” The Prince glanced pleasantly at him. “Probe light or deep, sir, you’re most amazingly a soldier.” He smiled--so had Mary Stuart smiled once amid disaster, and so had Charles when he stepped to the scaffold--secure and gravely happy. “You will take your orders,” he went on, “as good soldiers do. There was a breach of discipline--I forgot to chide you when you spoke of it just now. I mean the duel you provoked with Lord Murray in the wood. Your punishment is--just to ride through the vile weather you breed up here and give my thanks to Lady Royd for the husband she lent so recklessly to barren leadership. And rejoin me with the dawn. I command you, sir!” he added sharply, seeing that Sir Jasper hesitated still. “Then I obey, your Highness; but you will let me watch you out of sight.”