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Barclay, Florence L. (Florence Louisa), 1862-1921

"The White Ladies of Worcester A Romance of the Twelfth Century"

. . and send her to me."
No longer should it be lonely or desolate. Aye, and no longer should
his faithful heart be hungry.
On this day she had been over for the third time, riding by the road,
because she and Martin both carried packages of garments and other
things upon their saddles; but returning by a shorter way through the
woods, silent and mossy, most heavenly cool and green.
This journey had served to complete her happy preparations. So now,
should Hugh arrive, even at sunset, and be wishful to ride on without
delay, she could order the saddling of Icon, and say: "I am ready, dear
Knight; let us go."
She stood on the Castle wall, gazing at the blood-red banners of the
sunset, flaming from the battlements of a veritable city of gold; then,
shading her eyes, turned to look once again along the road.
And, at that moment, out from the dark fir wood there rode a horseman,
alone.

For one moment only did her heart leap in the wild belief that Hugh had
returned. The next instant she knew this could not be he; even before
her eyes made out a stranger.
She watched him leave the road, and turn up the winding path which led
to the Castle gate; saw the porter go to the grating in answer to a
loud knocking without; saw him fetch old Zachary, who in his turn sent
for Martin Goodfellow; upon which the gates were opened wide, and the
stranger rode into the courtyard.
Whereupon Mora thought it time that she should descend from the
battlements and find out who this unexpected visitor might be.


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