The strength of many yesterdays returned to help Sir Jasper. Because he was turned sixty, a light thinker might have said that he might take his ease; but, because he was turned sixty, he had more yesterdays behind him than younger men--days of striving toward a goal as fixed as the pole-star, nights of doubt and disillusion that had yielded to the dawn of each succeeding sunrise. He had pluck and faith in God behind him; and his trust was keen and bright, like the sword-blade that old Andrew Ferrara had forged in Italy for Prince Charles Edward. “The Prince needs me,” he muttered stubbornly. “That should be praise enough for any man.” He rode down the bridle-track to Windyhough; and the nearer he got to the chimneys that were smoking gustily in the shrewd east wind, the more he loved his homestead. It was as if a man, living in a green oasis, were asked to go out across the desert sands, because a barren, thirsty duty called him. Again the patient yesterdays rallied to his aid. He shook himself free of doubts, as a dog does when he comes out of cold waters; and he took a pinch of snuff, and laughed. “After all, I was growing fat and sleepy,” he thought, stooping to pat the tired horse that carried him. “One can sleep and eat too much.” He found Lady Royd in the hall, waiting for him, and a glance at her face chilled all desire to tell her the good Rising news. “What is the trouble, wife?” he asked, with sudden foreboding. “Is Rupert ill?” She stamped her foot, and her face, comely at usual times, was not good to see. “Oh, it is Rupert with you--and always Rupert--till I lose patience. He is--why, just the scholar. He does not hunt; he scarce dares to ride--we’ll have to make a priest of him.” “There are worse callings,” broke in Sir Jasper, with the squared jaw that she knew by heart, but would not understand. “If my soul were clean enough for priesthood, I should no way be ashamed.” “Yes, but the lands? Will you not understand that he is the heir--and there must be heirs to follow? We have but two, and you’re taking Maurice to this mad rising that can only end on Tower Hill.” “That is as God wills, wife o’ mine.” Again she stamped her foot. “You’re in league together, you and he.” “We share the same Faith,” he put in dryly, “if that is to be in league together.” “Only to-day--an hour before you came--I found him mooning in the library, when he should have been out of doors. ‘Best join the priests at once, and have done with it,’ said I. And ‘No,’ he answered stubbornly, ‘I’ve been reading what the Royds did once. They fought for Charles the First, and afterwards--they died gladly, some of them. I come of a soldier-stock, and I need to fight.’ The scholar dreamed of soldiery! I tapped him on the cheek--and he a grown man of five-and-twenty--and”--she halted, some hidden instinct shaming her for the moment--“and he only answered that he knew the way of it all--by books--dear heart, by books he knew how strong men go to battle!”