on one of the benches in the transept. But to
Francesca it was unspeakably dreadful.

The strangeness of the whole situation forced itself upon her more and
more, when she thought of rising from her knees and going back to the
bench. She felt a womanly shyness about keeping close to her companion,
her hand on his arm, for hours together, but she knew that the terror
she should feel of being left alone, even for an instant, or of merely
thinking that she was to be left alone, would more than overcome that if
she went away from the lights. She would grasp his arm and hold it
tightly.

Then she felt ashamed of herself. She had always been told that she came
of a brave race. She had never been in danger, and there was really no
danger now. It was absurd to remain on her knees for the sake of the
lamps. She rose to her feet and turned. Griggs was not looking at her,
but at the ornaments on the altar. The soft glimmer lighted up his dark
face. A moment after she had risen he came forward. She meant to propose
that they should go back to the transept, but just then she shuddered
again.

"Let us sit down here, on the step," she said, suddenly.

"If you like," he answered. "Wait a minute," he added, and he pulled off
his overcoat.

He spread a part of it on the step, and rolled the rest into a pillow
against which she could lean, and he held it in place while she sat
down. She thanked him, and he sat down beside her. At first, as she
turned from the lamps, the nave was like a fathomless black wall.
Neither spoke for some time. Griggs broke the silence when he supposed
that she was sufficiently recovered to talk quietly, for he had been
thinking of what she had said, and it was almost clear to him at last.

"I should like to speak to you quite frankly, if you will allow me," he
said gravely. "May I?"

"Certainly."

"The few words you said about Lord Redin's story have explained a great
many things which I never understood," said Griggs. "Is it too much to
ask that you should tell me everything you know?"

"I would rather not say anything more," answered Francesca. "I am very
much ashamed of having betrayed his secret. Besides, what is to be
gained by your knowing a few more details? It is bad enough as it is."

"It is more or less the story of my life," he said, almost
indifferently.

She turned her head slowly and tried to see his face. She could just
distinguish the features, cold and impassive.

"I came to you