So Hugh strove to grow strong, and, nature helping him, not in vain. At
length there came a day when he might rise from his bed, and sit on a
bench in the pleasant spring sunshine by the open window. Walk he
could not, however, not only on account of his weakness, but because of
another hurt, now discovered for the first time, which in the end gave
him more trouble than did the dreadful and dangerous blow of Clavering's
sword. It seemed that when he had fallen suddenly beneath that murderous
stroke all his muscles relaxed as though he were dead, and his left
ankle bent up under him, wrenching its sinews in such a fashion that for
the rest of his life he walked a little lame. Especially was this so in
the spring season, though whether because he had received his hurt at
that time or owing to the quality of the air none could ever tell him.
Yet on that happy day he thought little of these harms, who felt the
life-blood running once more strongly through his veins and who awaited
Eve's long-promised advent. At length she came, stately, kind and
beautiful, for now her grief and terror had passed by, leaving her as
she was before her woes fell upon her. She came, and in Sir Andrew's
presence, for he would not leave them, the tale was told.
Hugh learned for the first time all the truth of her imprisonment and of
her shameful drugging. He learned of the burying of Sir John Clavering
and of her naming as sole heiress to his great estates.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159