"Reverend Mother—" he began, and stopped—for at the word her dark lashes lifted and she stared upon him curiously, while slowly her red lips quivered to a smile. And surely, surely this nun so sweet and saintly in veiling hood and wimple was yet a very woman, young and passing fair; and the eyes of her—how deep and tender and yet how passionate! Now beholding her eyes, memory stirred within him and he sighed, whereat she sighed also and meekly bowed her head, speaking him with all humility.
"Sweet son, speak on—thy reverend mother heareth."
Now did Beltane, my Innocent, rub his innocent chin and stand mumchance awhile, finding nought to say—then:
"Lady," he stammered, "lady—since I have found thee—let us go while yet we may."
"Messire," says she, with eyes still a-droop, "came you in sooth—in quest of me?"
"Yea, verily. I heard Sir Gilles had made captive of a nun, so came I to deliver her—an so it might be."
"E'en though she were old, and wrinkled, and toothless, messire?"
"Lady," says my Innocent, staring and rubbing his chin a little harder, "surely all nuns, young and old, be holy women, worthy a man's reverence and humble service. So would I now bear thee from this unhallowed place—we must be far hence ere dawn—come!"
"Aye, but whither?" she sighed, "death is all about us, messire—how may we escape it? And I fear death no whit—now, messire!"
"Aye, but I do so, lady, since I have other and greater works yet to achieve."