A Monk of Cruta

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

I shook my head. "Not to-night love! I shall be better alone. I am weary, and I have my things to collect."

I knew he would be surprised. He withdrew his hand, and manlike, was almost angry. "I forgot. You will leave here, I suppose!"

I shrugged my shoulders. "What should keep me, Paul? I could not live here alone. Every stone and tree would be full of barren memories. No! to-morrow I go to London. I have sent all the servants away to-day, except Gomez. You will be with me early!"

"I will be outside your window before you are up!" he promised with a touch of gaiety in his tone. "See that Gomez has breakfast for two!"

He passed down the avenue, and out of sight. I closed the door with a little shudder and turned round. Gomez was by my side. Through the gloom I could see that his dark eyes were full of fire, and his olive features were set and grim.

"What do you want Gomez?" I asked quickly.

He drew close to my side. "The priest," he muttered, "has he—has he dared——"

His breath was coming quickly. He spoke English but slightly, and in the excitement the words seemed to stick in his throat.

I interrupted him. "He has told Mr. de Vaux some strange, horrible story. What do you know of it?"