He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. ‘Don’t rightly know how you make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. “I love you, I always will.
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