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“Lord,” she said simply, “yesterday, you were afraid for my sake; to-night, it is I who fear.”

Her eyes met his, and held them. The secret thoughts of the day no longer had their half treacherous significance. Denise had no thought of self in her that moment; the succouring hands hid the dull radiance of the heart beneath.

“To-night you must rest and sleep.”

He looked at her, as though trying to understand. The darkness began to deepen about him, and he felt cold, and numb to the core.

“I can crawl to cover. If you could bring me wine and food, and a little linen——”

She went close to him suddenly, and passed her hands over his hauberk. Touch told her the whole truth. She had no false shame to make her weak and careful.

“Wounds, and you would have hidden them!”

“A little blood, nothing more. Let me lie here, Denise.”

“To die,” and her voice had a deep, quiet passion in it; “lord, would you choose death for a piece of pride! Come, I know the ways.”

She put an arm about him, as though she was stronger than Aymery that night, and had the will and courage to do for him what he, in his full strength, would have done for her. Suffering and sickness sweep the small prides of life aside. The heart of a woman is as elemental, then, as the wind or the sea.