Hurry, Hannekin! Hurry, I say, or I will haste you with my
cudgel!"
Plainly to the ears of all men could be heard the stamping of the
horses. Mary had stood up, quivering in every limb. An eager
step at the threshold, the door was flung wide, and there in the
opening stood Nigel, the rain gleaming upon his smiling face, his
cheeks flushed with the beating of the wind, his blue eyes shining
with tenderness and love. Something held her by the throat, the
light of the torches danced up and down; but her strong spirit
rose at the thought that others should see that inner holy of
holies of her soul. There is a heroism of women to which no valor
of man can attain. Her eyes only carried him her message as she
held out her hand.
"Welcome, Nigel!" said she.
He stooped and kissed it.
"Saint Catharine has brought me home," said he.
A merry supper it was at Cosford Manor that night, with Nigel at
the head betwixt the jovial old knight and the Lady Mary, whilst
at the farther end Samkin Aylward, wedged between two servant
maids, kept his neighbors in alternate laughter and terror as he
told his tales of the French Wars. Nigel had to turn his doeskin
heels and show his little golden spurs. As he spoke of what was
passed Sir John clapped him on the shoulder, while Mary took his
strong right hand in hers, and the good old priest smiling blessed
them both.
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