Then he rose, and spoke in low tones to his men-at-arms.

“When a thrush calls, you will leave the crypt, and guard the entrance from without; allowing none, on any pretext, to pass within.  When a blackbird whistles you will return, lift the stretcher, and pass with it, as heretofore, from the Cathedral to the hostel.”

Next the Knight, returning to the altar, bent over the bandaged man upon the stretcher.

“Martin,” he said, speaking very low, so that his trusted foster-brother alone could hear him.  “All is well.  Our pilgrimage is about to end, as we have hoped, in a great recovery and restoration.  When the call of a curlew sounds, leap from the stretcher, leave the bandages beside it; go to the entrance, guarding it from within; but turn not thy head this way, until a blackbird whistles; upon which lose thyself among the pillars, letting no man see thee, until we have passed out.  After which, make thy way out, as best thou canst, and join me at the hostel, entering by the garden and window, without letting thyself be seen in the courtyard.”

The keen eyes below the bandage, smiled assent.

Stooping, the Knight lifted the cloak, fastened it to his left shoulder, and drew it around him, holding the greater part of it in many folds in his right hand.  Then he moved back into the shadow of the pillar.

Above, the monks sang Nunc Dimittis.

By and by the voices fell silent.

Vespers were over.

Careful, shuffling feet were coming down the stairs within the wall.

One by one the white figures reappeared.

The Knight stood back, rigid, holding his breath.

As each nun stepped from the archway in the wall, on to the floor of the crypt, and moved toward the steps leading down to the subterranean way, she passed from the view of the nun following her, who was still one turn up the staircase.  It was upon this the Knight had counted, when he laid his plains.

    Six
    Seven
    Eight

Blessed Saint Joseph!  How slowly they walked!

    Nine
    Ten
    Eleven

The Knight gripped the cloak and moved a step further back into the shadow.

    Twelve

Were all the pillars rocking?  Was the great new Cathedral coming down upon his head?

    Thirteen

The Prioress was beside him in the shadow.

She had stepped aside.

The twelfth White Lady was moving on, her back toward them.

The fourteenth was shuffling down, but had not yet appeared.

Hugh slipped his left arm about the Prioress, holding her close to him; then flung the folds of the cloak completely around her, and over his left shoulder, pressing her head down upon his breast.

Thus they stood, motionless; her face hidden, his eyes bent upon the narrow archway in the wall.

The fourteenth White Lady appeared; evidently noted a wider gap than she expected between herself and the distant figure almost at the steps, and hastened forward.