The prolonged banishment from England and captivity in France were a terrible trial to him; not only because he was cut off indefinitely from the girl whom he loved with whole-hearted devotion, but because also he was cut off in his young full vigour from every hope of promotion and honour, and debarred from serving under the Commander whom he loved with a devotion no less whole-hearted. Yet he seldom spoke about the greatness of the trouble. It seemed as if his spirit of soldierly obedience had taught him submission to the Divine Will.
It is easy to see that a friendship of this kind could not fail to be good for Roy. And the friendship was not such in name only, for there were advantages on both sides. Much as Ivor could do for the lad, in the way of teaching him and keeping him out of mischief, there was an opposite view of the matter. Roy, by his light-heartedness and his spirit of unconquerable fun, could and did do much to lighten the weight of the young Guardsman's wearisome captivity.
Thus far Roy had done it, not knowing. Now the fact had dawned upon him, as a novel idea, that he might be some little help to Ivor. He was delighted; yet almost immediately he found the task less easy than when he had carried it out unconsciously.
The journey from Fontainebleau to Verdun, a matter of one hundred and seventy miles or more, would be no great matter in these days of steam-power, but it was a considerable matter in those times of slow travelling. It seemed to weigh upon Ivor's spirits more than anything had yet weighed upon them; or Denham was less successful in hiding what he really felt. Mrs. Baron was brighter than for months past; her relief at not being forced to leave her husband or to part yet with Roy tending to cheerfulness; and Colonel Baron, glad to see her happy, was the same himself. Roy as usual was in good spirits. Ivor alone appeared to have parted with his elasticity. He did not give in to the mood of depression, but it was patent enough to Mrs. Baron, whose concerned gaze wandered often in his direction.
No one except Ivor himself could know the haunting vision of Polly Keene, which floated before his eyes, through all those miles of driving, driving, ever farther away from where he craved to be. He might respond readily to Roy's chatter; but so soon as silence recurred, up again would come that picture of Polly, with her soft velvet eyes, her delicate colouring, her arch smile. And then he would hear the tender yielding in her voice, as she confessed that she did like Captain Ivor--well, just a little! and that she might perhaps be willing to marry him--well, some day!