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The silver shimmer of starlight falling through purple deeps had given way to the ruddy glare of a camp fire, and she was lying just beyond its heat, cloak-wrapped, on a bed of leaves. Above her, interlacing beech boughs made an arching roof, under which the shadows clustered as swallows under eaves. Before her, green tree-lanes opened out like corridors.
Some, whom exhaustion had robbed even of a fire-tender's ambition, had dropped down on the very spot where they had slipped from their saddles, and slept, cloak-wrapped, in the wet. And the circles about the fires were not much noisier. Rothgar's face gathered gravity as he gained the crest of the last hill that lay between him and the straggling encampment.
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