But that instant was enough. As her eyes met his, Hugh d"Argent knew that his betrothed was once more his own.
His heart ceased pounding; his pulses beat steadily.
The calm of a vast, glad certainty enfolded him; a joy beyond belief.
Yet he knew now that he had been sure of it, ever since he came up from the depths of the Severn into the summer sunshine, grasping the white stone.
"I keep my trust in prayer. . . . Give her to me! Give her to me!
Blessed Virgin, give her to me! "A sculptured smile"? Nay, my lord.
I keep my trust in prayer!"
The solemn chanting of the monks, stole down from the distant choir.
Vespers had begun.
The Knight strode to the altar, and knelt for some minutes, his hands clasped upon the crossed hilt of his sword.
Then he rose, and spoke in low tones to his men-at-arms.
"When a thrush calls, you will leave the crypt, and guard the entrance from without; allowing none, on any pretext, to pa.s.s within. When a blackbird whistles you will return, lift the stretcher, and pa.s.s with it, as heretofore, from the Cathedral to the hostel."
Next the Knight, returning to the altar, bent over the bandaged man upon the stretcher.
"Martin," he said, speaking very low, so that his trusted foster-brother alone could hear him. "All is well. Our pilgrimage is about to end, as we have hoped, in a great recovery and restoration.
When the call of a curlew sounds, leap from the stretcher, leave the bandages beside it; go to the entrance, guarding it from within; but turn not thy head this way, until a blackbird whistles; upon which lose thyself among the pillars, letting no man see thee, until we have pa.s.sed out. After which, make thy way out, as best thou canst, and join me at the hostel, entering by the garden and window, without letting thyself be seen in the courtyard."
The keen eyes below the bandage, smiled a.s.sent.
Stooping, the Knight lifted the cloak, fastened it to his left shoulder, and drew it around him, holding the greater part of it in many folds in his right hand. Then he moved back into the shadow of the pillar.
Above, the monks sang _Nunc Dimittis_.
By and by the voices fell silent.
Vespers were over.
Careful, shuffling feet were coming down the stairs within the wall.
One by one the white figures reappeared.
The Knight stood back, rigid, holding his breath.
As each nun stepped from the archway in the wall, on to the floor of the crypt, and moved toward the steps leading down to the subterranean way, she pa.s.sed from the view of the nun following her, who was still one turn up the staircase. It was upon this the Knight had counted, when he laid his plains.
Six Seven Eight
Blessed Saint Joseph! How slowly they walked!
Nine Ten Eleven
The Knight gripped the cloak and moved a step further back into the shadow.
Twelve
Were all the pillars rocking? Was the great new Cathedral coming down upon his head?
Thirteen
The Prioress was beside him in the shadow.
She had stepped aside.
The twelfth White Lady was moving on, her back toward them.
The fourteenth was shuffling down, but had not yet appeared.
Hugh slipped his left arm about the Prioress, holding her close to him; then flung the folds of the cloak completely around her, and over his left shoulder, pressing her head down upon his breast.
Thus they stood, motionless; her face hidden, his eyes bent upon the narrow archway in the wall.
The fourteenth White Lady appeared; evidently noted a wider gap than she expected between herself and the distant figure almost at the steps, and hastened forward.
The fifteenth also hastened.
The sixteenth chanced to have taken the stairs more quickly and, appearing almost immediately, noticed no gap.
Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty
Not one had turned her head in the direction of the pillar. The procession was moving, with stately tread, along its accustomed way.
A delicious sense of security enveloped Hugh d"Argent.
The woman he loved was in his arms; she was his to shield, to guard, to hold for evermore.
Twenty-one Twenty-two
She had come to him--come to him of her own free will. Holding her thus, he remembered those wondrous moments at the entrance to the crypt. How hard it had been to loose her and leave her. Yet how glad he now was that he had done so.
Twenty-three Twenty-four
When all these white figures are gone, safely started on their mile-long walk, the door shut and locked behind them--then he will fold back the cloak, turn her sweet face up to his, and lay his lips on hers.
Twenty-five
Praise the holy saints! The last! But what an old ferret!
Yes; Mother Sub-Prioress gave the Knight a moment of alarm. She peered to right and left. Almost she saw the glint of the silver on the blue.