The Abbess Of Vlaye

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE CHAPEL BY THE FORD.

  It was after midnight, and the young moon had set when they came, along procession of riders, to the ford in which des Ageaux had lavedhis horse's legs on the evening of his arrival. But the night wasstarlight, and behind them the bonfire, which the men had rekindledthat its blaze might aid their preparations, was reflected in a faintglow above the trees. As they splashed through the shallows the frogsfell silent, scared by the invasion, but an owl that was mousing onthe slope of the downs between them and the dim lifted horizoncontinued its melancholy hooting. The women shivered as the cool airembraced them, and one here and there, as her horse, deceived by thewaving weeds, set a foot wrong, shrieked low.

  But no one hesitated, for the Bat had put fear into them.

  He had told them in the fewest possible words that in ninety minutesM. de Vlaye would be knocking at the gate they left! And how long thepursuit would tarry after that he left to their imaginations. Theresult justified his course; the ford, that in daylight was a terrorto the timid, was passed without demur. One by one their horsesstepped from its dark smooth-sliding water, turned right-handed, andfalling into line set their heads up-stream towards the broken hillsand obscure winding valleys whence the river flowed.

  Hampered by the wounded man's litter and the night, they could nothope to make more than a league in the hour, and with the firstmorning light might expect to be overtaken. But des Ageaux consideredthat the Captain of Vlaye, ignorant of his force, would not dare tofollow at speed. And in the beginning all went well.

  Over smooth turf, they made for half a league good progress, the longbulk of the chalk hill accompanying them on the left, while on theright the vague gloom of the wooded valley, teeming with mysteriousrustlings and shrill night cries, drew many a woman's eyes over hershoulder. But, as the bearers of the litter could only proceed at awalking pace, the long line of shadowy riders had not progressed farbefore a gap appeared in its ranks and insensibly grew wider.Presently the two bodies were moving a hundred yards apart, andhenceforward the rugged surface of the road, which was such as tohamper the litter without delaying the riders, quickly augmented theinterval.

  The Vicomte was mounted on his own grizzled pony, and with his twodaughters and Roger rode at the head of the first party. They had notproceeded far before Bonne remarked that her sister was missing. Shewas sure that the Abbess had been at her side when she crossed theford, and for a short time afterwards. Why had she left them? Andwhere was she?

  Not in front, for only the Bat and Charles, who had attached himselfto the veteran, and was drinking in gruff tales of leaguer at hislips, were in front. Behind, then?

  Bonne turned her head and strove to learn. But the light of the starsand the night--June nights are at no hour quite dark--allowed her tosee only the persons who rode immediately behind her. They were Rogerand the Countess. On their heels came two more--men for certain. Therest were shadows, bobbing vaguely along, dim one moment, lost thenext.

  Presently Charles, also, missed the Abbess, and asked where she was.

  Roger could only answer: "To the rear somewhere."

  "Learn where she is," Charles returned. "Pass the word back, lad. Askwho is with her."

  Presently, "She is not with us," Roger passed back word. "She is withthe litter, they say. And it has fallen behind. But the Lieutenant iswith it, so that she is safe there."

  "She were better here," Charles answered shortly. "She is not wantedthere, I'll be sworn!"

  Wanted or not, the Abbess had not put herself where she was withoutdesign. Her passage of arms with des Ageaux had not tended to softenher feelings. She was now bent on his punishment. The end she knew;the means were to seek. But with the confidence of a woman who knewherself beautiful, she doubted not that she would find or create them.Bitterly, bitterly should he rue the day when he had forced her totake part against the man she loved. And if she could involve in hisfall this child, this puling girl on whom the Captain of Vlaye hadstooped an eye, not in love or adoration, but solely to escape thetoils in which they were seeking to destroy him--so much the better!The two were linked inseparably in her mind. The guilt was theirs, thecunning was theirs, the bait was theirs; and M. de Vlaye's themisfortune only. So women reason when they love.

  If she could effect the ruin of these two, and at the same time savethe man she adored, her triumph would be complete. If--but, alas, inthat word lay the difficulty; nor as she rode with a dark face ofoffence had she a notion how to set about her task. But women's witsare better than their logic. Men spoke in her hearing of the litterand of the delay it caused, and in a flash the Abbess saw the meansshe lacked, and the man she must win. In the litter lay the one andthe other.

  For the motives that led des Ageaux to bear it with him at the cost oftrouble, of delay, of danger, were no secret to a quick mind. The manwho lay in it was the key to the situation. She came near to diviningthe very phrase--a master-card--which des Ageaux had used to the Batin the security of the locked room. A master-card he was; a card thatat all costs must be kept in the Lieutenant's hands, and out ofVlaye's power.

  Therefore, even in this midnight flight they must burden themselveswith his litter. A Duke, a Marshal of France, in favour at Court, andlord of a fourth of Languedoc, he had but to say the word, and Vlayewas saved--for this time at any rate. The Duke need but give someorders, speak to some in power, call on some of those to whom his willwas law, and his _protege_ would not fall for lack of means. Up tothis point indeed, after a fashion which the Abbess did notunderstand--for the man had fallen from the clouds--he was rangedagainst her friend. But if he could be put into Vlaye's hands, orfairly or foully led to take Vlaye's side, then the Captain of Vlayewould be saved. And if she could effect this, would be saved by her.By her!

  The sweetness of such a revenge only a woman can understand. Her loverhad fancied the Rochechouart's influence necessary to his safety,and to gain that influence he had been ready to repudiate his love.What a sweet savour of triumph if she--she whom he was ready toabandon--could save him by this greater influence, and in the act showhim that a mightier than he was at her feet!

  She had heard stories of the Duke's character, which promised well forher schemes. At the time of her short sojourn at Court, he had butlately left his cloister, drawn forth by the tragical death of hisbrother. He was then entering upon that career of extravagance,eccentricity, and vice which, along with his reputation for eloquenceand for strange fits of repentance, astonished even the dissolutecircles of the Court. His name and his fame were in all mouths; a manquick to love, quick to hate, report had it; a man in whom remorsefollowed sharp on sin, and sin on remorse. A man easy to win, shesupposed, if a woman were beautiful and knew how to go about it.

  Ay, if she knew; but there was the difficulty. For he was no commonman, no man of narrow experience, and the ordinary bait of beautymight not by itself avail. The Abbess, high as her opinion of hercharm stood, perceived this. She recognised that in the circle; inwhich he had moved of late beauty was plentiful, and she bent her witsto the point. After that she might have been riding in daylight, forall she saw of her surroundings. She passed through the ford and inher deep thinking saw it not. The long, dark hill on her left, and thelow woods on her right with their strange night noises, and theirteeming evidences of that tragedy of death which fills the world, didnot exist for her. The gleam of the star-lit river caught her eye, butfailed to reach her brain. And if she fell back slowly and graduallyuntil she found herself but a few paces before the litter and itsconvoy, it was not by design only, but in obedience to a subtleattraction at work within her.

  When her women presently roused her by their complaints that she wasbeing left behind with the litter, she took it for an omen, and smiledin the darkness. They, on the contrary, were frightened, nor withoutreason. The road they pursued followed the bank of the river; but thewide vale had been left behind. They had passed into a valley morestra
it and gloomy; a winding trough, close pressed by long, hog-shapedhills, between which the travellers became every moment more deeplyengaged. The stars were fading from the sky, the darkness which comesbefore the dawn was on them, and with the darkness a chill.

  This change alarmed the women. But it did not terrify them one half asmuch as the marked anxiety of the litter-party. More than once desAgeaux' voice could be heard adjuring the bearers to move faster. Morethan once a rider passed between them and the main body, and on eachof these occasions men fell back and took the places of the oldcarriers. But still the cry was "Faster! Faster!"

  In truth the day was on the point of breaking, and the fugitives werestill little more than two leagues from Villeneuve. At any moment theymight be overtaken, when the danger of an attack would be great, sincethe light must reveal the paucity of their numbers. In this pinch eventhe Lieutenant's stoicism failed him, and moment by moment he trembledlest the sound of galloping horses reach his ear. Less than an hour'sriding at speed would place his charges in safety; yet for the sake ofa wounded man he must risk all. No wonder that he cried again,"Faster, men, faster!" and pressed the porters to their utmost speed.

  Soon out of the darkness ahead loomed the Bat. "This will never do, mylord," he said, reining in his horse beside his leader. He spoke in alow voice, but the Abbess, a dozen paces ahead, could hear his words,and even the heavy breathing of the carriers. "To go on at this paceis to hazard all."

  "You must go forward with the main body!" des Ageaux replied shortly."Let the women who are with us ride on and join the others, and doyou--but, no, that will not do."

  "For certain it will not do!" the Bat answered. "It is I must stay,for the fault is mine. But for me you would have left him, my lord."

  "Do you think we could support him on a horse?"

  "It would kill him!" the Bat rejoined. "But it is not two hundredpaces to the chapel by the ford that you remarked this morning. If weleave him there, and M. de Vlaye finds him, he will be as anxious tokeep life in him as we are. If, on the other hand, M. de Vlayeoverlooks him, we can bring him in to-morrow."

  "If it must be," des Ageaux answered reluctantly, "we must leave him.But we cannot leave him without some assistance. Who will stay withhim?"

  "_Diable!_" the Bat muttered.

  "I will not leave him without some one," des Ageaux repeated firmly."Some one must stay."

  Out of the darkness came the answer. "I," the Abbess said, "will staywith him!"

  "You, mademoiselle?" in a tone of astonishment.

  "I," she repeated, "and my women. I," she continued haughtily, "havenothing to fear from the Captain of Vlaye or his men."

  "And mademoiselle's robe," the Bat muttered with the faintestsuspicion of irony in his tone, "protects her."

  Charles, who had joined them with the Bat, thoughtlessly assented. "Tobe sure!" he cried. "Let my sister stay! She can stay without danger."

  Alone of the three des Ageaux remained silent--pondering. He had seenenough of the Abbess to suspect that it was not humanity alone whichdictated her offer. Probably she desired to rejoin her admirer. Inthat case, did she know enough of the fugitives' plans and strength torender her defection formidable?

  He thought not. At any rate it seemed well to take the chance. He wastaking, he was beginning to see that he was taking a good manychances. "It seems a good plan, if mademoiselle be indeed willing," hesaid. He wished that he could see her face.

  "I have said," she replied coldly, "that I am willing."

  But her women showed forthwith that they were not. What? Remain inthis wilderness in the dark with a dying man? They would be eaten bywolves, they would be strangled by witches, they would be ravished bythieves! Never! And in a trice one was in hysterics, deaf to hermistress's threats and to the Bat's grim hints. The other, after aconflict, allowed herself to be browbeaten, and sullenly, and withtears, yielded. But not until the water of the ford rippled abouttheir horses' hoofs, and the tiny spark of light that through the opendoor beaconed the shallows shone in their eyes.

  Had it been day they would have had before them a scene at once wildand peaceful. On their right, below the ford--which was formed bythe passage of the stream from one side of the narrow valley to theother--a lofty bluff overhung a black pool. Above the ford, on thelevel meadow, and a stone's-throw from the track--if track that couldbe called which was not used by a hundred persons in a year--stood atiny chapel and cell, which some hermit in past ages had built withhis own hands. The approach of the Crocans had driven his latestsuccessor from his post; but des Ageaux, passing that way in the day,had noted the chapel, and with the forethought of the soldier whoexpected to return in the dark he had seen the earthen lamp relit. Itslight, he knew, would, in case of need, direct him to the ford.

  At present that lamp, a tiny spark in the blackness, was all they saw.They made for it through the shallows and over a bed of shingle acrosswhich the horses clattered noisily. In haste they reached the door ofthe chapel, and there in a trice--for if the thing was to be done itmust be done quickly--they aided the Abbess and the lay sister toalight, bore in the litter with the wounded man, and closed the dooron all; this last, that the light might no longer be visible from theford. Then they, the men, got themselves to horse again, and away at around trot.

  Not without repugnance on the part of several; not without regret andmisgiving. Des Ageaux's heart smote him as his horse's feet carriedhim farther and farther away; it seemed so cowardly a thing to leavewomen to bear in that wild and lonely place the brunt of whatevermight befall. And Charles, ready as he had been to acclaim the notion,wondered if he had erred in leaving his sister thus lightly. But intruth they were embarked in an enterprise whose full perils it laywith time to disclose. And other and more pressing anxieties soon hadpossession of their minds.

  They had been less troubled had they been able to witness the Abbess'sdemeanour in her solitude. While her companion, overcome by her fears,sank down in a fit of hysterical weeping, Odette de Villeneuveremained standing within the low doorway, and with head erect listenedfrowning until the last sound of the horses' hoofs died to the ear.Then she drew a deep breath, and, turning slowly, she allowed her eyesto take stock of the place in which she so strangely found herself.

  It was a tiny building of rough-hewn stones, with an altar andcrucifix, also of stone, erected at the end remote from the door.Along either wall ran a stone bench, on one or other of which the goodfathers must have spent many a summer day watching the ford; for at acertain point the stone was polished and worn by friction. The litterand the wounded man filled half the open space, leaving visible only afloor of trodden earth foul with the droppings of birds and sheep, andbetraying in other respects the results of neglect. Here and there onsome stone larger than its fellows, and particularly on the lintel, aprentice hand had carved symbols; but, this notwithstanding, the wholewore by the light of the smoky lamp an aspect far from sacred.

  Yet the prospect of spending several hours in so poor a place did notappear to depress the Abbess. Her inspection finished, she nodded ananswer to her thoughts, and sitting down on the bench beside thelitter, rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand, andfixing her large dark eyes on the wounded man, gave herself up, ascompletely as if she had been in her own chamber, to her thoughts.

  Her woman, whose complaining, half fractious, half fearful, had sunkto an occasional sob, presently looked at her, and fascinated by thatgloomy absorption--which might have dealt with the mysteries of thefaith, but turned in fact on the faithlessness of man--she could notlook away. And moments passed; the first pale glimmer of dawnappeared, and still the two women faced one another across theinsensible man whose heavy breathing, broken from time to time by someobstruction, was the one sound that vied with the low murmur of thestream.

  Suddenly the Abbess lifted her head. Mingled with the water's chatterwas a harsher sound--a sound of rattling stones, of jingling steeland, a second later, of men's voices. She rose slowly to her feet, andas the ot
her woman, alarmed by the expression of her features, wouldhave screamed, she silenced her by a fierce gesture. Then she stood,her hand resting against the wall beside her, and listened.

  She had no doubt that it was he. Her parted lips her eyes, halffierce, half tender, told as much. It was he, and she had but to openthe door, she had but to show herself in the lighted doorway, and hewould come to her! As the voices of the riders grew, and the rattle ofhoofs among the pebbles ceased, she pictured him abreast of thehermitage; she fancied, but it must have been fancy, that she coulddistinguish his voice. Or no, he would not be speaking. He would beriding, silent, alone, his hand on his hip, the grey light of morningfalling on his stern face. And at that, at that picture of him, hisdeeds and his career, his greatness who had made himself, his firmnesswhom no obstacle stayed, rose before her embodied in the solitaryfigure riding foremost through the dawn. Her breast rose and felltumultuously. The hand that rested on the wall shook. She had only toopen the door, she had only to cry his name aloud, only to showherself, and he would be at her side! And she would be no longeragainst him but with him, no longer would be ranked with his foes--whowere so many--but for him against the world!

  The temptation was so strong that her form seemed to droop and sway asif a physical charm drew her in the direction of the man she loved,the man to whom, in spite of his faults, or by reason of them, sheclung in the face of defection. But powerful as was the spell laidupon her, pride--pride and her will proved stronger. She stiffenedherself; for an instant she did not seem to breathe. Nor was it untilthe last faint clink of iron died away that she turned feverish eyesin search of some crevice, some loophole, some fissure, through whichshe might yet see him; yet see, if it were but the waving of hisplume.

  She found none. The only windows, two tiny arrow-slits that had neverknown glass, were in the wall remote from the track. On that she sether teeth to control the moan of disappointment that rose from herheart; and slowly she sank into her old seat.

  But not into her old reverie. The eyes which she bent on the sick manwere no longer dreamy. On the contrary, they were fixed in a gaze ofeager scrutiny that sought to drag from the Duke's pallid features thesecret of his weakness and waywardness, of his strange nature andbizarre fame. And unconsciously as she gazed, she bent nearer andnearer to him; her look grew sharper and more imperious. All hung onhim now--all! Her mind was made up. Fortune had not cast him so timelyin her path, fate had not afforded her the opportunity of which shehad dreamed, without intending her to profit by it, without proposingto crown the scheme with success. The spell of her lover's presence,the spell that had obsessed her so short a time before that theinterval could be reckoned by seconds, was broken! Never should it behers to play that creeping part, to regain him that way, to return tohim tamely, empty-handed, a suppliant for his love! No, not while itmight be hers to return a conqueror, an equal, with a greater than theCaptain of Vlaye in her toils!

  She rose to her feet, and tasting triumph in advance, she smiled. Witha firm hand, disregarding her woman's remonstrance, she extinguishedthe lamp. The pale light of early morning stole in through the narrowslits, and then for a brief instant the Abbess held her breath; forthe light falling on the Duke's face so sharpened his thin temples andnervous features, showed him so livid and wan and death-like, that shethought him gone. He was not gone, but she acted upon the hint. If hedied, where were her schemes and the clever combinations she had beenforming? Quickly she drew from the litter a flagon of broth that hadbeen mixed with a cunning cordial; and first moistening his lips withthe liquor, by-and-by she contrived to make him swallow some. In theact he opened his eyes, and they were clear and sensible; but it wasonly to close them again with a sigh, half of satisfaction, half ofweakness. Nevertheless, from this time his state was rather one ofsleep, the sleep craved by exhausted nature, than of insensibility orfever, and with every hour the forces of his youth and constitutionwrought at the task of restoration.

  Odette, brooding over him, watched with satisfaction the return of amore healthy colour to his cheeks. Time passed, and presently, whilethe light was still cold and young, there came an interruption. Amurmur of voices, and the jingle of spur and bit, warned her that M.de Vlaye, baffled in his attempt to cut off the fugitives before theyfound refuge, was returning through the valley. This time, howdifferent were her sensations. She started to her feet and listened,and her face grew hard, but under pressure of suspense, not of desire.Suspense--for if they turned aside, if they entered the desertedchapel and discovered her, her plan--and her very soul was now set onits success--perished still-born.

  It was a trying moment, but it passed. Probably Vlaye knew the chapelof old, and knew that the good father had fled from it. At any rate hepassed by it, and rode on his way. She heard the trampling of thehorses break the singing of the ford; and then she heard only themurmur of the water and the morning hymn of a lark that, startled bythe passage of the riders, soared above the glen, and with thesunshine on its throbbing breast, hailed the warm rising of anotherday.

  Whether the lark's song appealed to the softer strain in her, orshe began to hate the sordid interior with its grey half-light, themoment she was sure that the riders had gone on their way she openedthe door and went out. The sun was peeping into the valley and allnature was astir. The laughing waters of the ford, the steep bluff,darksome by night, now clad in waving tree-tops, the floor of meadowemerald-green, all reflected the brightness of a sky in which not onebut half a dozen songsters trilled forth the joy of life. After thegloom, the vigil, the danger of the night, the scene appealed to herstrongly; and for a brief time, while she stood gazing on the valeunmarred by human works or human presence, she felt a compunction;such a feeling as in a similar scene invades the breast of the veteranhunter, and whispers to him that to carry death into the haunts ofnature is but a sorry task.

  A feeling as quickly suppressed in the one case as in the other. A fewminutes later the Abbess appeared in the doorway, and beckoned to thewoman to join her outside.

  "Give me your hood and veil," she said in a tone that forestalleddemur. "And I need your outer robe! Don't stare, woman!" she continuedfiercely. "Is there any one to see you? Can the hills hurt you? Obey.It is my pleasure to wear the dress of the order, and I have it notwith me!"

  "But, madam----"

  "Obey, woman, and take my cloak!" the Abbess retorted. "Wrap yourselfin that!" And when the change was made, and she had assumed over herdress the loose black and white robe of the order, "Now wait for mehere," she said. "And if he call, as is possible, do not go to him,but fetch me!"

  She departed towards the pool below the ford, and, disappearing behinda clump of low willows, made, using the still water for a mirror, somefurther changes in her toilet.

  Not fruitlessly, for when she returned to the door of the chapel, thewoman who awaited her stared, thinking that she had never seen hermistress show fairer in her silks than in this black and white, whichshe so seldom favoured. And soon there was another who thought--if notthat thought, a similar one. The Duke, opening on the glory ofsunshine and summer warmth, the eyes that had so nearly closed forgood, saw at the foot of his litter a wondrous figure kneeling beforethe altar.

  The face of the figure was turned from him, and for a time, betweensleeping and waking, he considered her idly, supposing her now anangel interceding for him in the other life on which he had entered,now a nun praying beside his bier; for he took it for certain he wasdead. By-and-by he passed over to the theory of the angel, for thefigure moved, and the sunlight passing in through a tiny window-slitformed a nimbus about her head. And then again, moving afresh, as inan ecstacy of devotion, she lifted her eyes to the crucifix, and thehood falling back with the movement revealed a profile of a beauty andpurity almost unearthly.

  The Duke sighed. He had sighed before, but apparently, for the sighhad not changed her rapt expression, she had not heard. Now she didhear. She rose, and with a deep genuflection turned from the altar,and glided with downcast eyes to his side.
Eyes softened to themeekness of a dove's looked into his, and found that he was awake.Then, angel or saint, or whatever she was, she made a sign to him notto speak; and producing, by magic as it seemed, ambrosial food, shefed him, and with a finger on his lip bade him in gentle accents,"Sleep!"

  Sleep? To think he could sleep when an angel--and while he laughed inridicule of the notion he slept, that heavenly face framed in itsnun's hood, that drooping form with the hands crossed upon the breastmoving before him into the land of visions. He was back again in thoseearliest days of his cloistered existence, when to live in anatmosphere, pure and apart, innocent of the passions and desires ofthe world, had been his dream. He had learned--only too soon--thatthat atmosphere and that innocence were not to be maintained, thoughthe walls of a monastery be ten feet through. For the nature which thethought of such a life had charmed was of all natures the one mostopen to worldly fascinations. He had fallen; and he had presentlyreplaced the vision of being good by the enthusiasm of doing good. Hehad lifted his voice, and the preaching of Pere Ange had moved halfParis to a twenty-four hours' repentance. His own had lasted a littlelonger.

  Now, weak and unnerved, he reverted at sight of this beautiful nun'sface to his old visions of a saintly life; and in innocent adorationhe dreamt of naught but her countenance. When he awoke again and foundher still at her devotions, though the sun was high, still at hisservice when she found him waking, still moving dovelike and silentabout her ministrations--he watched her everywhere. Several times hewished to speak, but she laid a finger on her lips, and covering herhands with her sleeves, sat on the bench beside him, reading her bookof hours. And so during the hazy period of his return to consciousnesshe saw her. Awake or drowsing, stung to life by the smart of his hurtor lulled to sleep by the music of the stream, he had her face alwaysbefore him.

  At length there came a time, a little before high noon, when he awokewith a clearer eye and a mind capable of feeling surprise at hisposition. He saw her sitting beside him, but he saw also the roughgrey walls, the altar, the crucifix; and to wonder succeededcuriosity. What had happened, and how came he there? His eyes soughther face and remained riveted to it.

  "Where am I?" he whispered.

  She marked that his eyes were clear and his strength greater, and,"You are in the chapel in the upper valley of the Dronne," sheanswered.

  "But I----" He stopped and closed his eyes, brought up by someconfusion in his thoughts. At last, "I fancied I fought with someone," he whispered. "It was in a courtyard--at night? And there werelights? It was one of Vlaye's men, and the place was----" He broke offin the painful effort to remember. His lips moved without sound.

  "Villeneuve," she said.

  "Villeneuve," he whispered gratefully. "But this is not Villeneuve?"

  "We are two leagues from Villeneuve."

  "How come I here?"

  She told him, preserving the gentle placidity which, not withoutthought, she had adopted for her _role_. The repulse of Vlaye's menand the Lieutenant's decision to quit the chateau, that and the nightretreat up to the arrival of the party at the ford--all were told.Then she broke off.

  "But des Ageaux?" he murmured. "Where is he?" And again, that he mightlook round him, he tried to rise. "Where are they all?" he continuedin wonder. "They have not left me?" with a querulous note in hisvoice.

  "They are not here," she answered. And gently she induced him to lieback again. "Be still, I pray," she said. "Be still. You do yourselfno good by moving."

  He sighed. "Where are they?" he persisted.

  "We were hard pressed at the ford," she answered with feignedreluctance. "And your litter delayed them. It was necessary to leaveyou or all had been lost."

  He lay in silence awhile with closed eyes, considering what she hadtold him. At last, "And you stayed?" he murmured in so low a voicethat the words were barely audible. "You stayed!"

  "It was necessary," she answered.

  "And you have been beside me all night?"

  She bowed her head.

  His eyes filled with tears, and his lips trembled, for he was veryweak. He groped for her hand, and would have carried it to his lips,but as men kiss relics or the hands of saints--if she had not withheldit from him. Settling the thin coverings more comfortably round him,she gave him to drink again, softly chiding him and bidding him besilent--be silent and sleep.

  But, "You have been beside me all night!" he repeated. "All night,alone here, and a woman! A woman!"

  She did not tell him that she was not alone; that her woman was eventhen sitting outside, under strict orders not to show herself. For nowshe was assured that she was in the right path. She had hadopportunities of studying his countenance while he slept, and she hadtraced in it those qualities of enthusiasm and weakness, of thelibertine and the ascetic, which his career so remarkably displayed.The beauty which in ordinary circumstances his jaded eye, versed inwoman's wiles, might neglect, would appeal with irresistible force ina garb of saintliness. Nay, more; as he recovered his strength andreturned to his common feelings, it would prove, she felt sure, moreprovocative than the most worldly lures. Her resolve to carry thematter through was now fixed and immutable: and with her eye on thegoal, she neglected no precaution that occurred to her mind.