When John opened his eyes at last it was to find Joan bending over him; and looking into her face with his sweet, tired smile, he said: 

“You will not leave me, Joan?”

“No,” she answered gently; “I will not leave you yet.  Bridget and I will nurse you.  All our other helpers are themselves worn out; but we have worked only a little while.  We have not borne the burden and heat of that terrible day.”

“You came in a good hour —­ like angels of mercy that you were,” said John, feeling, now that the long strain and struggle was over, a wonderful sense of rest and peace.  “I thought it was a dream when first I saw your face, Joan —­ when I saw you moving about amongst the sick, always with a child in your arms.  I have never been able to ask how you came hither.  In those days we could never stay to talk.  There are many things I would fain ask now.  How come you here alone, save for your old nurse?  Are your parents dead likewise?”

“I know not that myself,” answered Joan, with the calmness that comes from constantly standing face to face with death.  “I have heard naught of them these many weeks.  William goes ofttimes to Woodcrych to seek for news of them there.  But they have not returned, and he can learn nothing.”

And then whilst John lay with closed eyes, his face so white and still that it looked scarce the face of a living man, Joan told him all her tale; and he understood then how it was that she had suddenly appeared amongst them like a veritable angel of mercy.

When her story was done, he opened his eyes and said: 

“Where is Raymond?”

“They told me he was sleeping an hour since,” answered Joan.  “He has sore need of sleep, for he has been watching and working night and day for longer than I may tell.  He looks little more than a shadow himself; and he has had Roger to care for of late, since he fell ill.”

“But Roger is recovering?”

“Yes.  It was the distemper, but in its least deadly form, and he is already fast regaining his strength.

“Has Raymond been the whole time with you?  I have never had the chance to speak to him of himself.”

And a faint soft flush awoke in Joan’s cheek, whilst a smile hovered round the corners of her lips.

“Nor I; yet there be many things I would fain ask of him.  He went forth to be with Father Paul when first the Black Death made its fatal entry into the country; and from that day forth I heard naught of him until he came hither to me.  We will ask him of himself when he comes to join us.  It will be like old times come back again when thou, Joan, and he and I gather about the Yule log, and talk together of ourselves and others.”