“Is that you, Esther?  Have they sent from the monastery to take Nicholas?”

“Yes,” returned Esther in an agonised voice.  “But you will not let them take him?  See, Hiram, they cannot hurt you; they will not recognise you, nor suspect you here in the darkness, in the dress of Nicholas.  You need not speak.  They will hasten you into the carriage.  To-morrow when they discover you, it will be too late for them to overtake us.  We shall be gone, and you they will not want.  They cannot put you in their monastery.  They must release you, and you—­will be at the gates of Jerusalem.”

Her low voice, thrilled with her agony of fear and suspense:  there was the very soul of persuasion in it.  As she pleaded in the darkness, she heard the man breathing quickly, and shuffling his feet on the floor.  He was hesitating.  He longed to go up to the city, but this seemed a dangerous expedient.  Yet it would serve Esther, and she was very fair, and was of his own kindred.  There was a noise and clamour downstairs beneath them—­the sound of the slow unbarring of bolts, and angry voices without.  Esther drew nearer, and her voice grew sharp with fear: 

“Hiram, as they are pushing you to the carriage, I will throw myself into your arms, and you shall kiss me your last farewell, as if you were Nicholas.”

In the darkness she felt that the man stretched out his hand.

“Give me the clothes; I will go.”

Esther threw them into his arms, and darted out, closing the door, and hung over the stair-rail.  There was no light, but she could hear the heavy footsteps coming up.  Nearer they came, and nearer, stumbling, and Solomon’s step behind, as he followed the priests, grumbling and protesting.  Now they were almost opposite the door of the room where Nicholas crouched waiting.

“He is not here! he is not here!” wailed out Esther’s voice suddenly from above, and the priests hearing her, rushed up the stairs to where she stood, passing by, forgotten, the door of the lower room.

Rigid and tense she stood before the door as if guarding it, her arms outstretched before it.  The first priest pushed her roughly on one side, the second opened the door, and beyond, dimly outlined against the open window square, was visible the draped figure and heavy hat of a priest.  With a shout of triumph they darted forward, and Esther gave a great cry of wild despair.  The priests dragged him out unresisting, and forced him down the stairs.  No word came from him.  Solomon, leaning back against the wall to let them pass, stretched out his hand to the weeping Esther; but she passed him, crying and hurrying after her lover.  Down in the passage the large door stood wide, showing the waiting carriage in the dim starlight of the sultry night.  As they pushed him to the door, he suddenly wrested himself free for an instant, and Esther rushed into his arms.

“Oh, Nicholas, Nicholas!  Good-bye!”