Once again her pride in him, in that he was finer than her own
conceptions, quickened her love, even while it humbled her, in her own
estimation, to a place at his feet.
A glory of joy was on her face as, making her way through to the
terrace, now bathed in sunset light, she passed up to the chamber she
had prepared during Hugh's absence.
All was as she had left it.
Fastening the door by which she had entered from the garden, she
noiselessly opened that which gave on to the great hall.
The hall was dark and deserted, but the door into the armoury stood
ajar.
A shaft of golden sunshine streamed through the half-open door.
She heard the clang of armour. She could not see Hugh, but even as she
stood in her own doorway, looking across the hall, she heard his voice,
singing, as he worked, snatches of the latest song of Blondel, the
King's Minstrel.
With beating heart, Mora turned and closed her door, making it fast
within.
CHAPTER LIX
THE MADONNA IN THE HOME
Hugh d'Argent had polished his armour, put a keen edge on his
battle-axe, and rubbed the rust from his swords.
The torment of suspense, the sickening pain of hope deferred, could be
better borne, while he turned his mind on future battles, and his
muscles to vigorous action.
Of the way in which the cup of perfect bliss had been snatched from his
very lips, he could not trust himself to think.
His was the instinct of the fighter, to bend his whole mind upon the
present, preparing for the future; not wasting energy in useless
reconsideration of an accomplished past.
Pages:
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449