“Well, not just what ye’d call harm--not exactly harm--but my day’s over, lass.”
“That’s what the rooster said when he war moulting, Simon; but he lived to crow another day.”
Simon had learned from the far-off days of soldiering that there are times when the bravest are counselled to retreat in good order. “Well, I’m i’ the moult just now,” he said impassively, “and it’s time I gat into th’ house, now they’re made me some queer sort of indoor servant. Lady Royd will be wanting this and that--ye know her pretty-prat way, needing fifty things i’ a minute.”
He trudged steadily forward, not turning his head; and Martha sighed as she climbed the gate again and began to rock gently to and fro. “Men are kittlesome cattle,” she said discontentedly.
Round the bend of the road below she heard the sound of footsteps--halting steps that now and then ceased for a while. She forgot Simon, forgot her peevishness, as she saw the figure that came up the road towards her. All the motherhood that was strong and eager in this lass came to the front as she saw Rupert, the heir--Rupert, who had been missing since the dawn--come home in this derelict, queer fashion. She ran out and put an arm about him. He was not the heir now, the master left in charge of Windyhough; he was the lad whose cries she had helped to still, long since in nursery days.
“Why, sir, ye’re i’ th’ wars, and proper. You’re limping sorely.”
Rupert steadied himself against her arm for a moment, then put her away and went forward. “Nay, I’m out of the wars, Martha,” he said, with the rare smile that made friends among those who chanced to see it. “I’m out of the wars--and that’s my trouble.”
“Yes,” he snapped, with sudden loss of temper. “I’m limping, Martha--since my birth. That’s no news to me.”
He went in at the door of Windyhough, and in the hall encountered Lady Royd. The light was dim here, and she did not see his weariness.
“Where have you been, Rupert?” she asked peevishly.
He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’ve been up the moors, mother,” he said, “planning how best to defend Windyhough if the attack should come.” He was here to take up the post allotted to him, and to his last ebb of strength he meant to be debonair and cheery, as his father would have been under like hardship. “There are so few men left here, and all of us are either old, or--or useless,” he added, with his whimsical, quiet smile.