'You must go to sleep now, so as to be rested before you go to the Hall of Justice in the morning.' They made Lucy a bed of soldiers' cloaks laid on a bench; and bearskins are the best of pillows.

Philip had a soldier's cloak and a bench, and a bearskin too--but what was the good?
Everything was spoiled.

If Lucy had not come the guard-room as a sleeping-place would have been almost as good as the tented field.

But she _had_ come, and the guard-room was no better now than any old night-nursery.

And how had she known?
How had she come?
How had she made her way to that illimitable prairie where he had found the mysterious beginning of the ladder bridge?
He went to sleep a bunched-up lump of prickly discontent and suppressed fury.
When he woke it was bright daylight, and a soldier was saying, 'Wake up, Trespassers.