Griselda clasped Leslie Travers's arm with both hands, and said:
"Let us hasten away—we are watched."
But Leslie turned, and faced Sir Maxwell Danby.
"The shadow of the church is a better trysting-place than the shelter of the dwellings in Crown Alley," he said, hissing the words out in what was hardly more than a whisper.
Leslie was on the point of retorting angrily, when he controlled himself:
"This is not the time and place," he said, "to demand an apology for your words, Sir Maxwell Danby. I will seek it elsewhere."
But Griselda clung to his arm, and tried to advance towards the side door to get away from the man, who had dogged her steps.
"Come—come, I pray you," she said; "do not stay."
And Leslie Travers, saying in low but decided tones, "I will seek satisfaction elsewhere," let the door swing behind him, and he and Griselda passed out of the dim Abbey into the sunshine.
It was still bright and beautiful without, and the fair city lay under the shadow of the encircling hills, which were touched with the glory of a brilliant winter's day.