"That boy's had as much as he can stand," said the guard who had
questioned.
"What, a'ready?" laughed his mate.
"Not beer, you fool--travel. He's extended--he will hardly reach
another yard."
The fact was wholly, the reasoning partly true. Doubt had lain as
dregs at the bottom of the draught which had fed her. Now she was at
the lees--brought so low that she had to depend upon the worth of her
news for assurance of a hearing. True, she had asked no more, nor
looked for it--but you cannot tame hopes. A dry patch in her throat
burned like fire, but she fought her way. He was close: she could see
the keen light in his eyes. Alas! alas! he looked for Roy. A thick
tide of despair came surging over her, closing in, beating at her
temples for entrance. She lost her sight, fluttered a very rag in the
wind, held out her hands for a balance. Prosper saw her feeling about
like a blind man. He quickened.
"Danger! danger!" she breathed, and fell at his feet.
He picked her up as if she had been a baby and carried her into the
house. As he passed the guards one of them came forward to help.
"The lad's been pushed beyond his strength, my lord," the man
ventured.
"So I see," said Prosper, and shook him off. The business must be got
through alone.
"A great gentleman," said the man to his mate. "But he fags his
servants."
"Bless you, Jack, they like it!" the other assured him, with a laugh
at the weakness of his own kind.
Wine on her lips and brows brought her to, but it was a ghost of a boy
that lay on the bed and held fixed upon Prosper a pair of haunted
eyes. But Prosper stayed at his post. He was very tender to weak
things. Here in all conscience was a weak thing! That look of hers,
which never wavered for a second, frightened him. He thought she was
going to die; reflected that death was not safe without a priest: the
thought of death suggested his dream, the dream his old curiosity to
see again that which had so stirred him asleep. Well, here she was
before him--part of her at least; for her soul, which he had helped
her to win, was fighting to escape. The sounds of the duel, the
shuddering reluctance of the indrawn breath, the moan that told of its
enlargement, these things, and the motionless open eyes which seemed
to say, Look! Body and soul are fighting, and we can only watch!
turned him helpless, as we all are in actual audience of death. He
sat, therefore, waiting the issue; and if he had any thought at all it
was, "God, she was mine once, and now I have let her go!" For we do
not pity the dying or dead; but ourselves we pity, who suffer longer
and more than they.