s dry as a kiln,
my tongue was doubled back till I thought that I should have choked. The
night was now deadly still, and the ring of the weary hoofs drew nearer
and nearer. I heard a stumble, and the scramble of a tired horse as he
recovered himself; for the rest, all was silent, though the beating of my
own heart sounded heavy and husky in my ears.

Closer and closer the travellers drew, and soon it was plain that they
rode not carelessly, nor as men who deemed themselves secure, for the
tramp of one horse singled itself out in front of the others, and this,
doubtless, was ridden by an "eclaireur," sent forward to see that the way
ahead was safe. Now I heard a low growl of a curse from Brother Thomas,
and my heart took some comfort. They might be warned, if the Brother
shot at the foremost man; or, at worst, if he was permitted to pass, the
man would bear swift tidings to Chinon, and we might be avenged, the
travellers and I, for I now felt that they and I were in the same peril.

The single rider drew near, and passed, and there came no cry of "Pax
vobiscum" from the friar. But the foremost rider had, perchance, the
best horse, and the least wearied, for there was even too great a gap
between him and the rest of his company.

And now their voices might be heard, as they talked by the way, yet not
so loud that, straining my ears as I did, I could hear any words. But
the sounds waxed louder, with words spoken, ring of hoofs, and rattle of
scabbard on stirrup, and so I knew, at least, that they who rode so late
were men armed. Brother Thomas, too, knew it, and cursed again very low.

Nearer, nearer they came, then almost opposite, and now, as I listened to
hear the traitorous signal of murder--"Pax vobiscum"--and the twang of
bow-strings, on the night there rang a voice, a woman's voice, soft but
wondrous clear, such as never I knew from any lips but hers who then
spoke; that voice I heard in its last word, "Jesus!" and still it is
sounding in my ears.

That voice said--

"Nous voila presqu'arrives, grace a mes Freres de Paradis."

Instantly, I knew not how, at the sound of that blessed voice, and the
courage in it, I felt my fear slip from me, as when we awaken from a
dreadful dream, and in its place came happiness and peace. Scarce
otherwise might he feel who dies in fear and wakes in Paradise.

On the forest boughs above me, my face being turned from the road,
somewhat passed, or seemed to pass, like