"By why apologize?" she asked. "I assure you I'm not at all tired and I really should like to walk to Wych Maries."
He was amazed at her self-possession, and they walked along with unhastening conventual steps to where the St. John's wort grew amid a tangle of ground ivy in the open spaces of a cypress grove, appearing most vividly and richly golden like sunlight breaking from black clouds in the western sky.
"Gather some sprays quickly, Sister Esther Magdalene," Mark advised. "And you will be safe against the demons of this night when evil has such power."
"Are we ever safe against the demons of the night?" she asked solemnly. "And has not evil great power always?"
"Always," he assented in a voice that trembled to a sigh, like the uncertain wind that comes hesitating at dusk in the woods. "Always," he repeated.
As he spoke Mark fell upon his knees among the holy flowers, for there had come upon him temptation; and the sombre trees standing round watched him like fiends with folded wings.
"Go to the chapel," he cried in an agony.
"Mark, what is the matter?"
"Go to the chapel. For God's sake, Esther, don't wait."
In another moment he felt that he should tear the white veil from her forehead and set loose her auburn hair.