when i came back to some clearer sensing of things, i found myself abed in a room which was strange and yet strangely familiar. barring a great oaken clothes-press in one corner, a raree-show of curious china on the shelves where the books should have been, and the face of an armored soldier staring down at me from its frame over the chimney piece, where i should have looked to see my mother's portrait, the room was a counterpart of my old bedchamber at appleby hundred. there was even a faint odor of lavender in the bed-linen; and the sense of smell, which hath ever a better memory than any other, carried me swiftly back to my boyhood, and to the remembrance that my mother had always kept a spray or two of that sweet herb in her linen closet.

at the bedside there was a claw-footed table, which also had the look of an old friend; and on it a dainty porringer, filled with cuttings of fragrant sweetbriar. this was some womanly conceit, i said to myself; and then i laughed, though the laugh set a pair of wolf's jaws at work on my shoulder. for you must know that i had lived the full half of king david's span of three-score and ten years, and more, and what womanly softness had fallen to my lot had been well got and paid for.

i closed my eyes the better to remember what had befallen, and when i opened them again was fain to wonder if the moment of back-reaching stood not for some longer time. in the deep bay of the window was a great chair of indian wickerwork, and i could have sworn it had but now been empty. yet when i looked again a woman sat in it.

now of a truth i had seen this woman's face but twice; and once it wore a smile of teasing mockery and once was full of terror; but i thought i should live long and suffer much before the winsome challenging beauty of it would let me be as i had been before i had looked upon it.

she knew not that i was awake and slaking the thirst of my eyes upon the sweetness of her, and so i saw her then as few ever saw her, i think, with the womanly barriers of defense all down. 'tis a hard test, and one that makes a blank at rest of many a face beautiful enough in action; but though this lady's face was to the full as changeful as any april sky, it was never less than triumphantly beautiful.

i had said her eyes were blue, but now they were deep wells reflecting the soft gray of the clouded sky beyond the window-panes. i had made sure that her lips lent themselves most readily to mocking smiles scornful of any wit less trenchant than her own; but now these mocking lips were pensive, and with the rounded cheek and chin gave her the look of a sweet child wanting to be kissed. i had said her hair was bright in the sunlight, and so, indeed, it was; but lacking the sun it still held the dull luster of burnished copper in its masses, and her simple, care-free dressing of it at a time when les grandes dames were frizzing and powdering and adding art to art to mar the woman's crown of glory, gave her yet more the look of a child.

lastly, i had called her small, and certainly her figure was girlish beside those grenadier dames of maria theresa's court to whom my old field-marshal had once presented me. but when she rose and went to stand in the window-bay i marked this; that not any duchess or margravine of them all had a more queenly bearing, or, with all their stays and furbelows, could match her supple grace and lissom figure.

what with the blood-lettings and the wound fever, coupled with the subtle witchery of her presence thus in my sick room, it is little to be wondered at that a curious madness came over me, or that i forgot for the moment the loyalty due to my dear lad. could i have stood before her and, reading but half consent in the deep-welled eyes, have clipt her in my arms and laid my lips to hers, i would have run to pay the price, in earth or heaven or hell, i thought, deeming the fierce joy of it well worth any penalty.

at this i should have stirred, i suppose, for she came quickly and stood beside me.

"you have slept long and well, captain ireton," she said; and in all the thrilling joy of her nearer presence i found space to mark that her voice had in it that sweet quality of sympathy which is all womanly. "they say i am good only to fetch and carry—may i fetch you anything?"

i fear the madness of the moment must still have been upon me, for i said: "since you are here yourself, dear lady, i need naught else."

at a flash i had my whipping in a low dipped curtsy and a mocking smile like that she had flung to falconnet.

"merci! mon capitaine," she said; and for all my wincings under the sharp lash of her sarcasm i was moved to wonder how she had the french of it. and then she added: "is it the custom for her apostolic majesty's officers to come out of a death-swound only to pay pretty compliments?"

"'twas no compliment," i denied; and, indeed, i meant it. then i asked where i was, and to whom indebted, though i had long since guessed the answer to both questions.

in a trice the mocking mood was gone and she became my lady hostess, steeped to her finger-tips in gracious dignity.

"you are at appleby hundred, sir. 'twas here they fetched you because there was no other house so near, and you were sorely hurt. richard jennifer and my black boy made a litter of the saddle-cloths, and with sir francis and mr. tybee to help—"

i think she must have seen that this thrust was sharper than that of the german long-sword, for she stopped in mid-sentence and looked away from me. and, surely, i thought it was the very irony of fate that i should thus be brought half dead to the house that was my father's, with my enemy and his second to share the burden of me.

"but your father?" i queried, when the silence had grown over-long.

"my father is away at queensborough, so you must e'en trust yourself to my tender mercies, captain ireton. are you strong enough to have your wound dressed?"

she asked, but waited for no answer of mine. summoning a black boy to hold the basin of water, she fell to upon the wound-dressing with as little ado as if she had been a surgeon's apprentice on a battle-field, and i a bloodless ancient too old to thrill at the touch of a woman's hands.

"dear heart! 'tis a monstrous ugly hurt," she declared, replacing the wrappings with deft fingers. "how came you to go about picking a quarrel with sir francis?"

"'twas not of my seeking," i returned, and then i could have cursed my foolish tongue.

"is that generous, captain ireton? we hear something of the talk of the town, and that says—"

"that says i struck him without sufficient cause. i am content to let it stand so."

"nay, but you should not be content. is there not strife enough in this unhappy land without these causeless bickerings?"

here was my lady turned preacher all in a breath and i with no words to answer her. but i could not let it go thus.

"i knew sir francis falconnet in england," said i, hoping by this to turn her safe aside.

"ah; then there was a cause. tell it me."

"nay, that i may not."

though she was hurting me sorely in the wound-dressing, and knew it, she laughed.

"'tis most ungallant to deny a lady, sir. but i shall know without the telling; 'twas about a woman. tell me, captain ireton, is she fair?"

seeing that her mood had changed again, i tried to give her quip for jest; but what with the pain of the sword-thrust and the sweet agony of her touches i could only set my teeth against a groan. she went on drawing the bandagings, little heedful how she racked me, i thought; and yet when all was done she stood beside me all of a tremble, as any tender-hearted woman might.

"there," she said; "'tis over for a time, and i make no doubt you are glad enough. now you have nothing to do save to lie quiet till it heals."

"and how long will that be, think you?"

"we shall see; a long time, i hope. you shall be punished properly for your hot temper, i promise you, captain ireton."

with that she left me and went to stand in the window-bay; and from lying mouse-still and watching her over-steadily i fell asleep again. when i awoke the day was in its gloaming and she was gone.

after this i saw her no more for six full circlings of the clock-hands, and grew fair famished for a sight of her sweet face. but to atone, she, or some messenger of richard jennifer's, brought me my faithful darius, and he it was who fetched me my food and drink and dressed my wound. from him i gleaned that the master of appleby hundred had returned from queensborough, and that there were officers in red coats continually going back and forth, always with a hearty welcome from gilbert stair.

now, though the master of my stolen heritage had little cause to love me, i thought he had still less to fear me; so it seemed passing strange that he came not once to my bedchamber to pass the time of day with his unbidden guest, or to ask how he fared. but in this, as in many other things, i reckoned without my enemy, though i might have known that sir francis would be oftenest among the red-coated officers coming and going.

but stranger than this, or than my lady's continued avoidance of me, was the lack of a visit from richard jennifer. knowing well my dear lad's loyalty to the patriot cause, i could only conjecture that he had finally broken margery's enforced truce to go and join mr. rutherford's militia, which, as darius told me, was rallying to attack a tory stronghold at ramsour's mill.

with this surmise i was striving to content myself on that evening of the third day, when mistress margery burst in upon me, bright-eyed and with her cheeks aflame.

"captain ireton, i will know the true cause of this quarrel which, failing in yourself, you pass on to richard jennifer!" she cried. "was it not enough that you should get yourself half slain, without sending this headstrong boy to his death?"

now in all my surmisings i had not thought of this, and truly if she had sought far and wide for a whip to scourge me with she could have found no thong to cut so deep.

"god help me!" i groaned. "has this fiend incarnate killed my poor lad?"

"no, he is not dead," she confessed, relenting a little. "but he has the baronet's bullet through his sword-arm for the sake of your over-seas disagreement with sir francis."

i could not tell her that though my quarrel with this villain was but the avenging of poor dick coverdale's wrongs, richard jennifer's was for the baronet's affront to her. so i bore the blame in silence, glad enough to be assured that my dear lad was only wounded.

"why don't you speak, sir?" she snapped, flying out at me in a passion for my lack of words.

"what should i say? i have not forgot that once you called me ungenerous."

"you should defend yourself, if you can. and you should ask my pardon for calling my father's guest hard names."

"the last i will do right heartily. 'twas but the simple truth, but it was ill-spoken in your presence, mistress stair."

at this she laughed merrily; and in all my world-wanderings i had never heard a sound so gladsome as this sweet laugh of hers when she would be on the forgiving hand.

"surely any one would know you are a soldier, captain ireton. no other could make an apology and renew the offense so innocently in the same breath." then her mood changed again in the dropping of an eyelid, and she sighed and said: "poor dick!"

as ever when she was with me, my eyes were devouring her; and at the sigh and the trembling of the sweet lips in sympathy i found that curious love-madness coming upon me again. then i saw that i must straightway dig some chasm impassable between this woman and me, as i should hope to be loyal to my friend. so i said: "he loves you well, mistress margery."

she glanced up quickly with a smile which might have been mocking or loving; i could not tell which it was.

"did he make you his deputy to tell me so, captain ireton?"

now i might have known that she was only luring me on to some pitfall of mockery, but i did not, and must needs burst out in some clumsy disclaimer meant to shield my dear lad. and in the midst of it she laughed again.

"oh, you do amuse me mightily, mon capitaine," she cried. "i do protest i shall come to see you oftener. tis as good as any play!"

"saw you ever a play in this backwoods wilderness?" i asked, glad of any excuse to change the talk and keep her by me.

"no, indeed. but you are not to think that no one has seen the great world save only yourself, captain ireton. what would you say if i should tell you that i, too, have seen your london, and even your paris?"

here i must blunder again and say that i had been wondering how else she came by the parisian french; but at this her jesting mood vanished suddenly and she spoke softly.

"i had it of my mother, who came of the huguenots. she spoke it always to me. but my father speaks it not, and now i am losing it for want of practice."

how is it that love transforms the once contemptible into a thing most highly to be prized? my eight years of campaigning on the continent had given me the french speech, or so much of it as the clumsy tongue of me could master, and i had always held it in hearty english scorn. yet now i was eager enough to speak it with her, and to take as my very own the little cry of joy wherewith she welcomed my hesitant mouthing of it.

from that we fell to talking in her mother's tongue of the hardships of those same huguenot émigrés; and when i looked not at her i could speak in terms dispassionate and cool of this or aught else; and when i looked upon her my heart beat faster and my blood leaped quickly, and i knew not always what it was i said.

after a time—'twas when darius fetched me my supper and the candles—she went away; and so ended a day which saw the beginning of a struggle fiercer than any the turbaned turk had ever given me. for when i had eaten, and was alone with time to think, i knew well that i loved this woman and should always love her; this in spite of honor, or loyalty to richard jennifer, or any other thing in heaven or earth.