ith a golden veil. Standing with his arms around her, it flowed over
his hands. Silent he stood, looking deep into her eyes.

Below they could hear Martin Goodfellow calling to the men-at-arms.

Her lips being free, she spoke.

"Thou wilt come back to me, Hugh," she said. "The Saracens will not
slay thee, will not wound thee, will not touch thee. My love will ever
be around thee, as a silver shield."

She flung her strong young arms about him, long and supple, enfolding
him closely, even as his enfolded her.

He filled his hands with her soft hair, straining her closer.

"I would I left thee wife, not maid. Could I have wed thee first, I
would go with a lighter heart."

"Wife or maid," she answered, her face lifted to his, "I am all thine
own. Go with a light heart, dear man of mine, for it makes no
difference. Maid or wife, I am thine, and none other's, forever."

"Let those be the last words I hear thee say," he murmured, as his lips
sought hers.

So, a little later, standing above him on the turret steps, she bent
and clasped her hands about his head, pushing her fingers into the
thickness of his hair. Then: "Maid or wife," she said, and her voice
now steady, was deep and tender; "Maid or wife, God knows, I am all
thine own." Then she caught his face to her breast. "Thine and none
other's, forever," she said; and he felt her bosom heave with one deep
sob.

Then turning quickly he ran down the winding stair, reached the
courtyard, mounted, and rode out through the gates of Castle Norelle,
and into the fir wood; and so down south to follow the King, who
already had started on the great Crusade.

And, as he rode, in moonlight or in shadow, always he saw the sweet
lips that trembled, always he felt the soft heave of that sob, and the
low voice so tender, said: "Thine and none other's, forever."

* * * * * *

And now----

The Prioress sat in her chair of state.

Each moment her face grew calmer and more stern.

The Knight let his eyes dwell on the fingers which once crept so
tenderly into his hair.

She hid them beneath her scapulary, as if his gaze scorched them.

He looked at the bosom against which his head had been pressed.

A jewelled cross gleamed, there where his face had laid hidden.

Then the Knight lifted his eyes again to that stern, cold face. Yet
still he kept silence.

At length the Prioress spoke.

"So it is you," she said.

"Yes," said