The glare from the torches fell upon the face of the man who wore the sable cloak. It was a handsome face, yet weak and troubled, the face of a man without great self-restraint, a man who would attempt to be violent when he should be patient, and who would betray his weakness when he needed strength. There was something tragic about the figure standing there alone, and looking in upon the wild night before the dawn of the morrow. It might have been the figure of a magician gazing upon the fierce and elemental things that he had brought into being, and who had lost the power of holding them under his spell. Marpasse saw the man cross himself, and turn away with an air that suggested foreshadowings of disaster. It was a figure full of infinite significance, in that it had striven continually to strut upon the world’s stage, and yet had never succeeded in being more than a puppet. Marpasse had whispered in Denise’s ear. “The King!” And then:— “The poor fool! He is not a shepherd like Earl Simon. Even his sheep dogs are out of hand.” As he had come out of the darkness, so he disappeared, silently, almost furtively, with no blare of trumpets and no tossing of torches. Men who were wise saw in him a thing that was sometimes a saint, sometimes a mean, contriving Jew, often a firebrand, more often still a beauty-loving fool. Brave enough in battle, and a clean liver, yet the grim, animal energy of his father might have served him better than his own flickering and inconstant brilliancy. Henry could delight in the colour of a painted window, and he had the heart of a sentimental woman. In one thing alone he may have been of use, for his follies taught the stronger son to be warned by the mistakes of a weak father. Henry made war against the spirit of liberty stirring in the heart of a great people. Edward the Strong was wiser in knowing the nature of his own strength. Marpasse nudged Denise, and pulled her hood forward over her face. “We have seen enough,” she said; “they are to hunt swine to-morrow! Good, very good, let them beware of the boar’s tusks.” They made their way back towards the gate, and St. Pancras, kind saint, blessed them, for they escaped unscathed out of the place. And coming out to the cool darkness that covered the downs, they sat down side by side to wait for the dawn. CHAPTER XXXIX Marpasse was up as soon as the first grey light began to spread above the hills, and it was possible for them to see their way. Denise had passed the night, lying with her head in Marpasse’s lap, and sleeping soundly despite her promise to remain awake. Marpasse had smiled, and let her sleep, trusting to her own ears and eyes to warn her of the approach of any peril.