She had told her listener more than she dreamed, far more than her words.  She had stood before him in the noblest guise a human being can wear, that of a preserver from evil fate; she had looked at him out of holy depths in her clear eyes, she had turned upon him a face in which expression had marvellously brought out physical beauty.  Also, in her unconsciousness that he knew the reason of his danger, she had looked at him with a wonder at his ready credulity before there had come her smile of relief that she need speak no more.  He knew Edmonson’s story, knew how this play at marriage between Elizabeth and himself had interfered with the other’s plans, guessed the further truth, looked at her, and muttered under his breath:—­“Poor fellow!” It was with his own eyes, and not another man’s that Archdale saw Elizabeth.  Yet, it was not in human nature that she should not seem the more interesting as she stood there, since he had learned his own life to be in danger because another man had found her so desirable, and so unapproachable.  Watching Elizabeth, he acquitted Edmonson of mercenary motives, whatever they might once have been.  His appreciation had no thought of appropriation in it.  Katie was his love.  But comprehension of Elizabeth made him glad that their mistake had saved her from Edmonson.  And then again after a moment he muttered under his breath:—­“Poor fellow!”

“You are very, very kind,” he said to her.

“Don’t think me rude,” she answered with a smile.  “But, you know we must have done this for any one.  Only,”—­and her voice became earnest again, “I was very grateful that the least thing came to me for you and Katie.  I have not done with Katie yet” she added, “here is something that I have brought you from her.”  And she handed him a letter.  “She gave me this as I was leaving,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said again, and holding it clasped in his hand, stood not looking at it, but as if he still had something to say.  “Has Bulchester gone yet, Mistress Royal?” he asked abruptly at last.

“No.  But I think that he must be very hard to send away, and Katie you know hates to say anything unkind.  She doesn’t see that it is the kindest way in the end.  We shall not go until to-morrow, you know.  If you have any letters, we shall be so glad to take them.”

“Thank you once more.”  He stood still a moment.  “The earl may be wise to stay on the field,” he said.  “I may be swept off conveniently.  Yes, he is wise to wait and see what the fortunes of war will do for him.”

“Oh!  Mr. Archdale,” cried Elizabeth, between indignation and tears at his want of faith.  “How can you not trust her?  Your letter that she was so eager to send will prove how wrong you are.”  Here Mr. Royal sauntered up, and the conversation turned upon the scene before them.

But in the midst of Archdale’s description of one of their skirmishes a signal was given from the new battery.  “They are signalling for me,” he said.  “My place is in command of those guns.  I am sorry to leave my story half told, but I must go.  I shall try to see you to-morrow.”  And with a hasty farewell he sprang into the boat.  As he was rowed away, Elizabeth saw him put his hand into the pocket where he had slipped Katie’s letter, and draw this out.