Nance went through the charred doorway, and halted a moment as the pleasant frost-wind met her. The moonlight and the clean face of the sky gave her a sense of ease and liberty, after the cramped days indoors. The siege’s uproar, its stealthy quiet, were lost in this big silence of the frosty spaces overhead. From the silence, from the snowy courtyard at her feet, a groan brought her back sharply to realities. She looked down, and saw Will Underwood lying face upwards to the stars. He, too, was linen-sheeted, as the squire had been; but there was no touch of comedy in his apparel. It seemed to Nance that he was shrouded for his bier. They looked into each other’s eyes for a while, and some kindness in the girl’s glance, some regret to see him lying helpless with the fire of torment in his eyes, fired his courage. “You?” she said gently. “You came to save the house?” “No, Nance; I came to save you. That was my only thought.” “They are asking for you indoors. I do not understand--you are wounded----” “In your service--yes. They were right, after all--they always said I’d more luck than I deserved.” She was free now of the bewilderment of this night attack, the sharp battle in the hall, quick and confused in the doing. The moonlight showed her the face of a man in obvious pain, a man fighting for every word that crossed his lips; and yet he was smiling, and the soul of him was gay. “I’ll bring help,” she said, turning toward the house. “No; you’ve brought help. Nance, I’ll not keep you long. There was a day--a day when we met up the moor, and I was your liar, Nance--from heel to crown I was your liar--and God knows the shame you put on me.” Nance, scarce heeding what she did, took a kerchief, stained with gunpowder, from the pocket of the riding-coat she had worn, day in, day out, since the siege began. “I keep my promise, Will.” Even yet, though Nance was kneeling in the snow beside him and he heard the pity in her voice, Will could not free himself from some remembrance of that bygone meeting. “As a flag of truce?” he asked sharply. “As a badge of honour. You are free to wear it.” He reached out for her hand, and put it to his lips with the reverence learned since he came down from duck-shooting to find a mortal hurt. “As God sees me,” he said, a pleasant note of triumph in his voice--“as God sees me, I die happy.” And then he turned on his side. And the pert youngster who had coupled Nance’s name with Will’s, coming out in search of the missing leader, saw the girl kneeling in the snow and heard her sobs. And he crept back into the hall, ashamed in some queer way. “Why, lad, have you seen a ghost out yonder?” asked the red-faced squire. “No, sir,” the boy answered gravely. “It is as I said--Will is with Nance Demaine, and--and I think we’d better leave them to it.” CHAPTER XVIII THE RIDING OUT