sill and he could
peer into the room.

Sir Gilles half stood, half sat upon the table, while the nun faced
him, cold and proud and disdainful, the gleaming dagger clutched to her
quick-heaving bosom; and Sir Gilles, assured and confident, laughed
softly as he leaned so lazily, yet ever he watched that gleaming steel,
waiting his chance to spring. Now as they stood fronting each other
thus, the nun stirred beneath his close regard, turned her head, and on
the instant Beltane knew that she had seen him; knew by the sudden
tremor of her lips, the widening of her dark eyes, wherein he seemed to
read wonder, joy, and a passionate entreaty; then, even as he thrilled
to meet that look, down swept languorous lid and curling lash, and,
sighing, she laid the dagger on the table. For a moment Sir Gilles
stared in blank amaze, then laughed his lazy laugh.

"Ah, proud beauty! 'Tis surrender then?" said he, and speaking, reached
for the dagger; but even as he did so, the nun seized the heavy table
and thrust with sudden strength, so that Sir Gilles, taken unawares,
staggered back and back--to the window. Then Beltane reached up into
the room and, from behind, caught Sir Gilles by the throat and gripped
him with iron fingers, strangling all outcry, and so, drawing himself
over the sill and into the room, dragged Sir Gilles to the floor and
choked him there until his eyes rolled upward and he lay like one dead.
Then swiftly Beltane took off the belt of Sir Gilles and buckled it
tight about the wrists and arms of Sir Gilles, and, rending strips from
Sir Gilles' mantle that lay near, therewith fast gagged and bound him.
Now it chanced that as he knelt thus, he espied the dagger where it
lay, and taking it up, glanced from it to Sir Gilles lying motionless
in his bonds. But as he hesitated, there came a sudden knocking on the
door and a voice spake without:

"My lord! my lord--'tis I--'tis Lupo. My lord, our men be few and
wearied, as ye know. Must I set a guard beyond the ford, think you, or
will the four watch-fires suffice?"

Now, glancing up, scarce breathing, Beltane beheld the nun who crouched
down against the wall, her staring eyes turned towards the door, her
cheeks ashen, her lips a-quiver with deadly fear. Yet, even so, she
spake. But that 'twas she indeed who uttered the words he scarce could
credit, so soft and sweetly slumberous was her voice:

"My lord is a-weary and sleepeth. Hush you, and come again with the
dawn."