For the moment he thought he was tenting in the open, with only one eye and ear closed in sleep before the next day’s march began. Then he glanced round the parlour, saw Lady Ingilby’s grim, contemptuous face. When the Parliament man had whispered his message, word for word, Cromwell, with grim irony, thanked his hostess for the night’s hospitality, and asked if he were free to take the road. "None more free. On the road, sir, you will meet the democracy whom you befriend—will meet your equals." Humour had some hiding place in Cromwell’s soul, after all. As they passed out, the messenger and he, he laughed quietly. "She’s of Rupert’s breed. They’d make good Parliament men, the two of them, if we could persuade them to our side of the battle." Lady Ingilby opened the parlour window, listened till Cromwell’s sharp command had brought his troopers into line, and heard them go on weary horses down the street. Then she went to the hall, in search of cloak and hood, and encountered Christopher. "Good morrow, Mr. Metcalf," she said, after the first start of surprise. "One of your clan always comes when I’m most in need of you. My husband—does he lie dead on Marston Moor?" "He was alive when we broke Cromwell’s Ironsides, for I heard his cheery shout. After that Leslie routed us, and—I do not know." "He may be alive, you think?" "Why not? I shared the trouble with him, and I’m here." Impetuous, strong for the deed, and strong for yielding to emotion afterwards, she came and touched him on the shoulder. "My thanks—oh, indeed, my thanks. Only to fancy him alive is peace to me. I need you," she added briskly. "You will take charge of my women-folk here, until I return from—from an errand of mercy." "Let me take the errand." "Ah, but you could not. Only I can do it. Sir, is it no welcome change for you to tend helpless women? You have had your holiday at Marston." "It was a queer merry-making." "But your wounds show to the public eye—wounds of honour. You carry the red badge of knighthood, sir, while I have only a few more grey hairs to show for all these months of waiting." "You cannot go alone," he protested. "The roads will be full of raffish men." "The roads must be as they will. For my part, I have to take a journey. Come, saddle me a horse, sir, by your leave. My grooms were all out with the King’s party yesterday." When they crossed to the stables, a shrill cry of welcome greeted them; and, for all the gravity of what was past, Kit could not check a sudden laugh. "Why, ’tis Elizabeth, the good ass that helped Michael into York! We thought to have lost her somewhere between this and Lathom House." Elizabeth came and licked Kit’s face; even if he were not Michael, the master well-beloved, he was at least near the rose. And then Kit pushed her aside; it was no time for blandishment.