"You will be exhausted! Of what are you thinking the whole evening?"
"Of what am I thinking?" repeated Rauthgundis, still looking out. "I am thinking how often we have sat in the colonnade before our beautiful house, when the fountain splashed in the garden and the cicalas chirped in the trees. The cool night-breeze fanned his beloved face, and I nestled against his shoulder, and we did not speak one word, and above us was the silent march of the stars. And we listened to the deep and peaceful breathing of our child, who had fallen asleep upon my lap, his little hands, like soft white fetters, clasping the arm of his father. Alas! his arm now wears other fetters! Iron fetters--that pain----"
And she pressed her forehead against the iron grating, until she, too, felt pain.
"Mistress, why do you torment yourself thus? We cannot help it!"
"'But we will help it! I must save him and----Dromon! look there! What is that?" she whispered, and pointed at something in the court.
The old man hastened noiselessly to her side.
In the court was a tall white figure, which seemed to glide stealthily along the wall.
At brief intervals, but sharp and clear, the moonlight fell upon it.
"It is a Lemure! The ghost of some one who has been murdered here!" said the old man, trembling. "God and all the saints protect us!"
He crossed himself and covered his head with his mantle.