"She is right," answered the Franciscan, speaking for the first time, "and when one is right there is no turning back, no matter what the end may be. Yes," he went on, replying now to a sudden gesture dimly seen in the gloom, "I know you are armed and we are not, but, short of killing me, you can no more turn me back from the right than you can turn back the finger of God from lifting the sun yonder."
He faced the east as he spoke, and at the sweep of his arm all faced with him. Dawn trembled in birth below the hard rim of the world. The leaden sullenness was colder, clearer, the upper sky a threat of storm, but the impending shaft of cloud had caught the first of the coming glory and blazed a splendid crimson. It was as if indeed the Divine had clothed itself in visibility, that the troubled in spirit might take comfort, and faith go forward strengthened in the right, unafraid.
Crossing his breast mechanically with his finger-tips the monk sat in silence, like one tranced. "'Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and the King of Glory shall come in,'" he murmured. Then he roused, straightening himself in the saddle. "Let us ride on. Have no fear, mademoiselle. By the Christ of Love whom I serve you shall taste no harm."
"They will never let you pass the outer guard."
"A way will open; ride on."
"Well ride, then!" And ride they did, furiously. The fewer sleepless eyes in Valmy the better for his purpose; the surer, too, his chance of escape in the confusion which must follow the King's death. Once only Molembrais looked round.
"Remember your parole. Keep near me, La Mothe!" Then, crouching low, he drove his spurs home and dashed forward at a reckless gallop.
But if he thought to shake off Ursula de Vesc and the Franciscan, he was mistaken. Thanks to the good offices of Cartier, the innkeeper, they had changed horses at Château-Renaud, and now their freshness more than balanced any lesser skill in horsemanship. Even Father John, the weakest rider of the four, never flinched or fell behind, but, stiff with pain and every joint a living fire from the unaccustomed fatigue, kept his place, second in the troop. Stephen and Ursula came last, side by side. Crossing the Loire the pace slackened, and for the first time speech was possible.
"Stephen, you are not vexed? I could not wait in Amboise eating my heart out, knowing nothing."
"How could love vex me?" he answered as they clasped hands across the current. "But, beloved, I am in terror for you. The King——"