Ever since the
Prince's battle--"
"Good father, I beg you--"
"Nay, Mary, none can hear me, save your own confessor, Father
Matthew. Ever since the Prince's battle, I say, when we heard
that young Nigel had won such honor she is brain-wode, and sits
ever--well, even as you see her now."
An intent look had come into Mary's eyes; her gaze was fixed upon
the dark rain-splashed window. It was a face carved from ivory,
white-lipped and rigid, on which the old priest looked.
"What is it, my daughter? What do you see?"
"I see nothing, father."
"What is it then that disturbs you?"
"I hear, father."
"What do you hear?"
"There are horsemen on the road."
The old knight laughed. "So it goes on, father. What day is
there that a hundred horsemen do not pass our gate, and yet every
clink of hoofs sets her poor heart a-trembling. So strong and
steadfast she has ever been, my Mary, and now no sound too slight
to shake her to the soul! Nay, daughter, nay, I pray you!"
She had half-risen from her chair, her hands clenched and her
dark, startled eyes still fixed upon the window. "I hear them,
father! I hear them amid the wind and the rain! Yes, yes, they
are turning--they have turned! My God, they are at our very
door!"
"By Saint Hubert, the girl is right!" cried old Sir John, beating
his fist upon the board. "Ho, varlets, out with you to the yard!
Set the mulled wine on the blaze once more! There are travelers
at the gate, and it is no night to keep a dog waiting at our door.
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