Tales of
wrong are told so readily, and so quickly grow."
"I will observe the utmost caution," said the Knight.
"Hugh," she said, "I grieve to have had, perforce, to disappoint you."
The brave voice shook. "This is our final farewell. Do you forgive
me, Hugh? Will you think kindly, if you ever think on me?"
The Knight held the lantern so that its rays illumined both her face
and his.
"Mora," he said, "I cannot as yet take thine answer as final. I will
return no more, nor try to speak with thee again. But five days
longer, I shall wait. I shall have plans made with the utmost care, to
bear thee, in safety and unseen, from the Cathedral. I know the doors
are watched, and that all who pass in and out are noted and observed.
But, if thou wilt but come to me, beloved, trust me to know how to
guard mine own. . . . Nay, speak not! Hear me out.
"Daily, after Vespers, I shall stand hidden among the pillars, close to
the winding stair. One step aside--only one step--and my arm will be
around thee. A new life of love and home will lie before us. I shall
take thee, safely concealed, to the hostel where I and my men now
lodge. There, horses will stand ready, and we shall ride at once to
Warwick. At Warwick we shall find a priest--one in high favour, both
in Church and State--who knows all, and is prepared to wed us without
delay. After which, by easy stages, my wife, I shall take thee home."
He swung the lantern high.
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