"Dearest doctor! what if my husband knew?" softly replied the youth.
They passed by the central pillar, from the light into the shadow.
"How name you these?" asked Nameless.
"Leo, the Tenth, and his nephew," was the answer of Frank,—"but see here! A monk and nun!"
The monk was tall; his hood and robe fashioned of white cloth bordered with red; the hood concealed his face, and the robe fell in easy folds from his shoulders to his sandaled feet. The nun was attired in a hood and robe of snow-white satin; the hood concealed her face and locks of gold; but the robe, although loose and flowing, could not conceal the rounded outlines of her shape. Her naked feet were encased in delicate slippers of white satin. And clinging with both hands to the arm of the White Monk, the White Nun went by.
"Beverly, are you sure?" Nameless heard her whisper.
"Sure?" replied the White Monk, in a tone that rose above a whisper,—"He is false—false—you have the proofs!" And they went from the light into the gloom.
"She trembles, and her voice falters," said Frank, observing the form of the retiring nun.
"Did she not say Beverly?" asked Nameless, a tide of recollections rushing upon his brain. "That name—surely I heard it,—"
"Look!" interrupted Frank, pressing his arm,—"An oddly assorted couple as ever went arm in arm."