with such a dreadful cry, that the starlings whirred up from the reeds, and the wild-fowl rose clanging off the meres, and the watch-dogs in Bourne and Mainthorpe barked and howled, and folk told fearfully next morning how a white ghost had gone down from the forest to the fen, and wakened them with its unearthly cry.
The sun was high when they came to Crowland minster. Torfrida had neither spoken nor stirred; and Martin, who in the midst of his madness kept a strange courtesy and delicacy, had never disturbed her, save to wrap the bear-skin more closely over her.
When they came to the bank, she rose, stepped out without his help, and drawing the bear-skin closely round her, and over her head, walked straight up to the gate of the house of nuns.
All men wondered at the white ghost; but Martin walked behind her, his left finger on his lips, his right hand grasping his little axe, with such a stern and serious face, and so fierce an eye, that all drew back in silence, and let her pass.
The portress looked through the wicket.
“I am Torfrida,” said a voice of terrible calm. “I am come to see the Lady Godiva. Let me in.”
The portress opened, utterly astounded.
“Madam?” said Martin eagerly, as Torfrida entered.
“What? What?” She seemed to waken from a dream. “God bless thee, thou good and faithful servant”; and she turned again.
“Madam? Say!”