“Do you not see in this the Hand of God?  Will you not bow in penitence before Him, confessing the sinfulness of the thing you had in mind to do?”

The shrouded head was lifted higher, as if with a proud gesture of disavowal.  At the same time, the hood slightly parting, the hand of a man, lean and brown, gripped it close.

The Prioress looked long at that lean, brown hand.

Then she rose slowly to her feet.

“Shew me—­thy—­face,” she said; and the tension of each word was like a naked blade passing in and out of quivering flesh.

At sound of it the figure stood erect, took one step forward, flung back the hood, tore open the robe and scapulary, loosing his arms from the wide sleeves.

And—­as the hood fell back—­the Prioress found herself looking into a face she had not thought to see again in life—­the face of him who once had been her lover.

CHAPTER XI

THE YEARS ROLL BACK

“Hugh!” exclaimed the Prioress.

And again, in utter bewilderment:  “Hugh?”

And yet a third time, in a low whisper of horror, passing her left hand across her eyes, as if to clear from her outer vision some nightmare of the inner mind:  “Hugh!”

The silent Knight still made no answer; but he flung aside the clinging robes, stepped from out them, and strode forward, both arms outstretched.

“Back!” cried the Prioress.  But her hand had left the hilt of the dagger.  “Come no nearer,” she commanded.

Then she sank into her chair, spreading her trembling hands upon the carven manes of the lions.

The Knight, still silent, folded his arms across his breast.

Thus for a space they gazed on one another—­these two, who had parted, eight years before, with clinging lips and straining arms, a deep, pure passion of love surging within them; a union of heart, made closer by the wrench of outward separation.

The Knight looked at the lips of the noble woman before him; and as he looked those firm lips quivered, trembled, parted——­

Then—­the years rolled back——­

* * * * * *

It was moonlight on the battlements.  The horses champed in the courtyard below.  They two had climbed to the topmost turret, that they might part as near the stars as possible, and that, unseen by others, she might watch him ride away.

How radiant she looked, in her robe of sapphire velvet, jewels at her breast and girdle, a mantle of ermine hanging from her shoulders.  But brighter than any jewels were the eyes full of love and tears; and softer than softest velvet, the beautiful hair which, covered her, as with a golden veil.  Standing with his arms around her, it flowed over his hands.  Silent he stood, looking deep into her eyes.

Below they could hear Martin Goodfellow calling to the men-at-arms.