“It is dark in the streets,” Rinaldo addressed the woman. “Lead us out, for the hour has come when I must go.”
She clutched her hands below her bosom to stop its great heaving, and stood as one smitten by the sudden hearing of her sentence. The sight was pitiful, for her face scarcely changed; the anguish was expressionless. Rinaldo pointed sternly to the door.
“Stay,” Wilfrid interposed. “That wretch may be in the house, and will kill her.”
“She is not thinking of herself,” said Rinaldo.
“But, stay,” Wilfrid repeated. The woman's way of taking breath shocked and enfeebled him.
Rinaldo threw the door open.
“Must you? must you?” her voice broke.
“Waste no words.”
“You have not seen a priest?”
“I go to him.”