“You are safe, is not that enough; yet, you were very heavy,” and she smiled at him. “Have you seen Grimbald?” “No, no one.” Aymery was silent for a moment, looking at Denise with a kind of quiet wonder. Her face was turned from him. And suddenly he caught her hand, and lifted it, and for a moment its whiteness lay across Aymery’s mouth. “God guard you, Denise.” Her eyes flashed down at him. “You must live. I ask that.” “Assuredly, I cannot die.” Denise rose up and went out into the sunlight, for her face had blazed suddenly with blood that rushed from the heart. The first thing that Denise did that morning was to take a pitcher that stood beside the door, and to go down to the spring to draw water. There were drops of the man’s blood upon the stones of the path, and Denise, bringing back her pitcher, washed the stains away so that they should offer no betrayal. The beech wood seemed still and empty in the morning sunlight. Yet the peril of the night haunted her heart continually with an innocence that had no thought of self. She went to refill the pitcher at the spring, looking watchfully down every dwindling woodway, and listening even for the rustle of dead leaves. Aymery was lying awake when she returned. His eyes watched her a little restlessly, and there was something in those eyes of his that made the blood come more quickly to her face. Turning to a cupboard she took out bread, honey, and a little jar of wine. “Is that water, there?” He was looking at the pitcher. “Yes.” Denise understood him instantly, for she found a clean napkin in the cupboard, moistened it, and bent over the bed. “Your lips are dry.” She put a hand under his head, raised it, and washed his mouth and face. He held out his hands to her, and she washed those also, yet her eyes avoided Aymery’s, and their deeps were hidden from him by the shadows of their lashes. “Are you hungry?” “No, not even a little.” “But you must eat for your strength’s sake.” “I will do all that you desire.” She would not suffer him to manage for himself, but spread the honey on the bread, and held the wine flask for him to drink. “It is all that I can give,” she said simply. He looked at her, but found no answer for the moment. Both of them had grown suddenly shy of one another and when their hands touched, the touch thrilled them from hand to heart. Denise left him at last, and going to the doorway of the cell, stood to break bread for her own need. Yet though her face was turned from him, she could not put the man’s nearness from her, and the bread as she crumbled it, fell in waste on the stones at her feet. “Denise.” Aymery’s voice startled her. He had not spoken loudly, but there was a return of strength in the tone thereof. “Yes?” “You shall be rid of me before nightfall. I only ask for a day’s grace.” She had turned and was looking down at him with solemn eyes. “It will be days before you must stir,” she said. “Remember that I saw your wounds.”