ht to her, for confinement in that narrow place had robbed
her of her appetite. Also she had suffered much from grievous fear and
doubt, for whatever she might say to Acour, how could she be sure that
his story was not true? How could she be sure that her lover did not, in
fact, now lie dead at the headsman's hands? Such things often happened
when kings were wroth and would not listen. Or perhaps Acour himself
had found and murdered him, or hired others to do the deed. She did
not know, and, imprisoned here without a friend, what means had she of
coming at the truth? Oh! if only she could escape! If only she could
speak with Sir Andrew for one brief minute, she, poor fool, who had
walked into this trap of her own will.

She sent away the food and bade the woman Mell bring her milk, for that
would be easy to swallow and give her sustenance. After some hours it
came, Mell explaining that she had been obliged to send for it to the
farmsteading, as none drank milk in the manor-house. Being thirsty, Eve
took the pitcher and drained it to the last drop, then threw it down,
saying that the vessel was foul and made the milk taste ill.

The woman did not answer, only smiled a little as she left the chamber,
and Eve wondered why she smiled.

A while later she grew very sleepy, and, as it seemed to her, had
strange dreams in her sleep. She dreamed of her childhood, when she and
Hugh played together upon the Dunwich shore. She dreamed of her mother,
and thought dimly that she was warning her of something. She heard
voices about her and thought that they were calling her to be free. Yes,
and followed them readily enough, or so it seemed in her dream, followed
them out of that hateful prison, for the bolts clanged behind her, down
stairs and into the courtyard, where the sun's light almost blinded her
and the fresh air struck her hot brow like ice. Then there were more
voices, and people moving to and fro and the drone of a priest praying
and a touch upon her hand from which she shrank. And oh! she wished that
dream were done, for it was long, long. It wearied her, and grasped her
heart with a cold clutch of fear.

CHAPTER VIII

TOO LATE

It was past three o'clock on this same day when Eve had drunk the milk
and some hours after she began to dream, that Hugh de Cressi and his
men, safe and sound but weary, halted their tired horses at the door of
the Preceptory of the Templars in Dunwich.

"Best go on to his worship the M