CHAPTER XLVIII

A STRANGE CHANCE

On the fourth day of her husband’s absence, Mora climbed to the battlements to watch the glories of a most gorgeous sunset.

Also she loved to find herself again there where she and Hugh had spent that wonderful hour in the moonlight, when she had told him of the vision, and afterwards had given him the promise that on the morrow he should take her to his home.

She paused in the low archway at the top of the winding stair, remembering how she had turned a moment there, to whisper:  “I love thee.”  Ah, how often she had said it since:  “Dear man of mine, I love thee!  Come back to me safe; come back to me soon; I love thee!”

That he should have had to leave her just as her love was ready to respond to his, had caused that love to grow immeasurably in depth and intensity.

Also she now realised, more fully, his fine self-control, his chivalrous consideration for her, his noble unselfishness.  From the first, he had been so perfect to her; and now her one desire was that, if her love could give it, he should have his reward.

Ah, when would he come!  When would he come!

She could not keep from shading her eyes and looking along the road to the point where it left the fir wood, though this was but the fourth day since Hugh’s departure—­the day on which, by fast riding and long hours, he might arrive at Worcester—­and the ninth was the very earliest she dared hope for his return.

How slowly, slowly, passed the days.  Yet they were full of a quiet joy and peace.

From the moment when she had stepped out into the sunshine, resolved to go steadily forward without looking back, she had thrown herself with zest and pleasure into investigating and arranging her house and estate.

Also, on the second day an idea had come to her with her first waking thoughts, which she had promptly put into execution.

Taking Martin Goodfellow with her she had ridden over to Hugh’s home; had found it, as she expected, greatly needing a woman’s hand and mind, and had set to work at once on those changes and arrangements most needed, so that all should be in readiness when Hugh, returning, would take her home.

Under her direction the chamber which should be hers was put into perfect order; her own things were transported thither, and all was made so completely ready, that at any moment she and Hugh could start, without need of baggage or attendants, and ride together home.

This chamber had two doors, the one leading down a flight of steps on to a terrace, the other opening directly into the great hall, the central chamber of the house.

Mora loved to stand in this doorway, looking into the noble apartment, with its huge fireplace, massive carved chairs on either side of the hearth, weapons on the walls, trophies of feats of arms, all those things which made it home to Hugh, and to remember that of this place he had said in his petition to our Lady:  “Take pity on a lonely home, a desolate hearth . . . and send her to me.”