Nigel gulped down something and whispered hoarsely--
"Good-bye, General. The Holy Saints help you!"
His orderlies carried him out, and two days afterwards Tilly died, the sound of Gustavus' cannon, without the walls of Ingolstadt, ringing in his ears.
Nigel reached Ratisbon in the train of the troops sent on to defend it. Every day he was under the ministrations of the Jesuit, who combined the art of the healer with that of spiritual director, as if he had never, sword in hand, hewn down Swedish pikemen on the bridge at the Lech. Every day made him gain something of ease. And once lodged in a comfortable upper room at Ratisbon he began to recover the usage of his legs.
But he was still far from the recovery of his full vigour, and spent most of the day looking from a window seat, his shoulders leaning against cushions because of his wounds, upon the passing trivialities of the street, while the aide-de-camp was out about his military duties.
It was while he was thus employed that his soldier servant announced, "A high-born lady visiting the sick, colonel!"
Wondering what new adventure this might be, he bade the soldier bring her up.
First came a sour-visaged dame, whom Nigel half recognised and then decided that he did not. Hard on her heels came one that brought a sudden flush into his pallor. It was the Archduchess Stephanie.
It was clearly as unexpected on her part. But with wonderful presence of mind she entreated him not to rise, and bade her maid set down her basket and wait below.
Then as the door closed she sprang to him.
She knelt at his side, and placing his arm about her neck laid her face against his, and crooned softly to him as she would have done to a babe.
And he could say little but press her dear hand closer to him and whisper "Stephanie! You too in Ratisbon!"
"We came, my brother Ferdinand and I, to strengthen the hands of the Elector Maximilian, so that he fell not into the sin of neutrality."
"You and Ferdinand?" There was a world of inquiry in his tone.
"Yes, Nigel! Ferdinand was to play the fisherman and I the bait." She sprang from him and dropped a stately curtsey, pulling her face straight, serene and wonderful to behold for any one, but to Nigel not the Queen of Sheba nor Zenobia of Palmyra would have seemed more wonderful.