“Whisht! whisht! whisht! 'Tis it. And thou shalt have thy share. But betray me not.”
“Monster!” cried Janet, drawing back from him with repugnance; “what, rob the blessed Virgin of her chain, and give it to an—”
“You are none,” cried Clement exultingly, “or you had not recked for that-Mary!”
“Ah! ah! ah!”
“Thy patron saint, whose chain this is, sends me to greet thee”
She ran screaming to the window and began to undo the shutters.
Her fingers trembled, and Clement had time to debarass himself of his boots and his hat before the light streamed in upon him, He then let his cloak quietly fall, and stood before her, a Dominican friar, calm and majestic as a statue, and held his crucifix towering over her with a loving, sad, and solemn look, that somehow relieved her of the physical part of fear, but crushed her with religious terror and remorse. She crouched and cowered against the wall.
“Mary,” said he gently; “one word! Are you happy?”
“As happy as I shall be in hell.”
“And they are not happy at the convent; they weep for you.”