and long he gazed where the horses were tethered, two swaying, trampling lines dim-seen amid the further shadows.  Now being busied measuring with his eye the distances ’twixt sentinel and sentinel, and noting where the shadows lay darkest, he was suddenly aware of the nun close beside him, of the feel of her, soft and warm against him, and starting at the contact, turned to find her hand, small and white, upon his mailed arm.

“Sweet son,” said she soft-voiced, from the shadow of her sombre hood, “thy reverend mother now would chide thee, for that having but short while to live, thou dost stand thus mumchance, staring upon vacancy—­ for, with the dawn, we die.”

Quoth Beltane, deeply conscious of the slender hand: 

“To die, nay—­nay—­thou’rt too young and fair to die—­”

Sighed she, with rueful smile: 

“Thou too art neither old nor cold, nor bent with years, fair son.  Come then, till death let us speak together and comfort each other.  Lay by thy melancholy as I now lay by this hood and wimple, for the night is hot and close, methinks.”

“Nay, lady, indeed ’tis cool, for there is much wind abroad,” says Beltane, my Innocent.  “Moreover, while standing here, methinks I have seen a way whereby we may win free—­”

Now hereupon she turned and looked on him, quick-breathing and with eyes brim-full of fear.

“Messire!” she panted, “O messire, bethink thee.  For death am I prepared—­to live each moment fully till the dawn, then when they came to drag me down to—­to shame, then should thy dagger free me quite—­ such death I’d smile to meet.  But ah! should we strive to flee, and thou in the attempt be slain—­and I alive—­the sport of that vile rabblement below—­O, Christ,—­not that!” and cowering, she hid her face.

“Noble lady,” said Beltane, looking on her gentle-eyed, “indeed I too had thought on that!” and, coming to the table, he took thence the dagger of Sir Gilles and would have put it in her hand, but lo! she shrank away.

“Not that, messire, not that,” she sighed, “thy dagger let it be, since true knight art thou and honourable, I pray you give me thine.  It is thy reverend mother asks,” and smiling pale and wan, she reached out a white, imperious hand.  So Beltane drew his dagger and gave it to her keeping; then, having set the other in his girdle, he crossed to the door and stood awhile to hearken.

“Lady,” said he, “there is no way for us but this stair, and meseemeth ’tis a dangerous way, yet must we tread it together.  Reach me now thy hand and set it here in my girdle, and, whatsoe’er befall, loose not thy hold.”  So saying, Beltane drew his sword and set wide the door.  “Look to thy feet,” he whispered, “and tread soft!” Then, with her trailing habit caught up in her left hand and with her right upon his belt, the nun followed Beltane out upon the narrow stair.  Step by step they stole downwards into the dark, pausing with breath in check each time