As she hesitated in the doorway, gazing down upon the waiting, restive
crowd, Hugh looked up and saw her. Into his eyes flashed a light of
triumphant joy, of adoring love and admiration. She had avoided
looking at her own reflection; but his face, as he came up the steps,
mirrored her loveliness. It had cost her such anguish of soul to
divest herself of her sacred habit and don these gay garments belonging
to a life long left behind, that his evident delight in the change,
moved her to an unreasonable resentment. Also that sudden blaze of
love in his dark eyes, dazzled her heart, even as a burst of sunshine
might dazzle one used to perpetual twilight.
She took the Bishop's letter, with averted eyes; read it; then moved
swiftly down the steps to where Icon waited.
"Mount me," she said to Martin Goodfellow, as she passed him; and it
was Martin who swung her into the saddle.
Then she trembled at what she had done, in yielding to this impulse
which made her shrink from Hugh.
As the black mane of his horse drew level with Icon's head, and side by
side they rode out from the courtyard, she feared a thunder-cloud on
the Knight's brow, and a sullen silence, as the best she could expect.
But calm and cheerful, his voice fell on her ear; and glancing at him
furtively, she still saw on his face that light which dazzled her
heart. Yet no word did he speak which all might not have heard, and
not once did he lay his hand on hers.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315