He had striven
hard, and yet everything had gone wrong with him. He was bruised,
burned and aching from head to foot. Yet so high is the spirit
above the body that all was nothing compared to the sorrow and
shame which racked his soul.
But a little thing changed the current of his thoughts and brought
some peace to his mind. He had slipped off his mail gauntlets,
and as he did so his fingers lighted upon the tiny bangle which
Mary had fastened there when they stood together upon St.
Catharine's Hill on the Guildford Road. He remembered the motto
curiously worked in filigree of gold. It ran: "Fais ce que dois,
adviegne que pourra--c'est commande au chevalier."
The words rang in his weary brain. He had done what seemed right,
come what might. It had gone awry, it is true; but all things
human may do that. If he had carried the castle, he felt that
Knolles would have forgiven and forgotten all else. If he had not
carried it, it was no fault of his. No man could have done more.
If Mary could see she would surely have approved. Dropping into
sleep, he saw her dark face, shining with pride and with pity,
stooping over him as he lay. She stretched out her hand in his
dream and touched him on the shoulder. He sprang up and rubbed
his eyes, for fact had woven itself into dream in the strange way
that it does, and some one was indeed leaning over him in the
gloom, and shaking him from his slumbers.
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