She knew where she was now.  She had heard of the old Refectory of the Knights Templars.  Partly demolished by the hatred of the people upon the abolition of the Order, it had ever since lain waste, and had become the centre of all the ghostly traditions of the country; the locality of all the most horrid tales of REVENANTS told under the breath at Dame Perrine’s hearth or at recreation hour at Bellaise.  Her courage was not proof against spiritual terrors.  She panted and leant against the wall, as she faintly exclaimed, ‘The Temple—­there—­and alone!’

’Nay, Lady, methought as Monsieur votre mari knew the true light, you would fear no vain terror nor power of darkness.’

Should these peasants—­these villeins—­be bold, and see the descendant of the ‘bravest of knights,’ the daughter of the house of Ribaumont, afraid?  She rallied herself, and replied manfully, ‘I FEAR not, no!’ but then, womanfully, ’But it is the Temple!  It is haunted!  Tell me what I must expect.’

‘I tell you truly, Madame,’ said Rotrou; ’none whom I have sheltered here have seen aught.  On the faith of a Christian, no evil spirit—­no ghost—­has ever alarmed them; but they were fortified by prayer and psalm.’

‘I do pray!  I have a psalm-book,’ said Eustacie, and she added to herself, ’No, they shall never see that I fear.  After all, REVENANTS can do nothing worse than scare one; they cannot touch one; the saints and angels will not let them—­and my uncle would do much worse.’

But to climb those winding stairs, and resign herself to be left alone with the Templars for the night, was by far the severest trial that had yet befallen the poor young fugitive.  As her tire feet dragged up the crumbling steps, her memory reverted to the many tales of the sounds heard by night within those walls—­church chants turning into diabolical songs, and bewildered travelers into thickets and morasses, where they had been found in the morning, shuddering as they told of a huge white monk, with clanking weapons, and a burning cross of fire printed on his shoulder and breast, who stood on the walls and hurled a shrieking babe into the abyss.  Were such spectacles awaiting her?  Must she bear them?  And could her endurance hold out?  Our Lady be her aid, and spare her in her need!

At the top of the stairs she found Rotrou’s hand, ready to help her out on a stone floor, quite dark, but thickly covered, as she felt and smelt, with trusses of hay, between which a glimmering light showed a narrow passage.  A few steps, guided by Rotrou’s hand, brought her out into light again, and she found herself in a large chamber, with the stone floor broken away in some places, and with a circular window, thickly veiled with ivy, but still admitting a good deal of evening light.