Hugh slipped his left arm about the Prioress, holding her close to him; then flung the folds of the cloak completely around her, and over his left shoulder, pressing her head down upon his breast.
Thus they stood, motionless; her face hidden, his eyes bent upon the narrow archway in the wall.
The fourteenth White Lady appeared; evidently noted a wider gap than she expected between herself and the distant figure almost at the steps, and hastened forward.
The fifteenth also hastened.
The sixteenth chanced to have taken the stairs more quickly and, appearing almost immediately, noticed no gap.
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Not one had turned her head in the direction of the pillar. The procession was moving, with stately tread, along its accustomed way.
A delicious sense of security enveloped Hugh d'Argent.
The woman he loved was in his arms; she was his to shield, to guard, to hold for evermore.
Twenty-one
Twenty-two