“No,” he said, “I will wait till you do offer it. Farewell.”
He turned away abruptly into the darkness.
She listened to his footsteps till they had died into the distance, then she turned and went slowly toward the Abbey.
She entered it on tiptoe; there were lights burning on the altar, but it was empty; she passed lightly down the chancel till she reached the door that led into the little chapel of St. Faith. With hushed heart she entered; here she could think she was in a church undefiled by another faith; the reformer’s hand had passed this corner by; two candles burnt on the low altar; the air was close and heavy; from the dark walls leaned wild angel faces with parted lips and blown-back hair, as if they strained out of the stone to cry aloud to those beneath.
Delia sank to her knees on the stone floor, and her fingers fumbled with the rosary at her breast. She was uplifted, carried out of herself; as though those candles could burn forever, till the angels’ heads should speak and bursting from their stone, pull the church about them in a great shout for judgement. Delia felt her senses swoon within her; she shook and shuddered as she knelt.
“Ah, God, make me worthy of that man’s love!” she prayed passionately. “For I have not deserved this happiness!”
CHAPTER XVI
A LAMPOON ANSWERED
Mr. Wedderburn entered the parlor of “The Sleeping Queen,” true to his appointed time.
He found alone, and busily writing, Sir Perseus, who greeted him cordially in his pleasant, blunt manner.
Mr. Caryl, he said, had been summoned by his grace of Berwick, but he expected his return shortly, and though he, Sir Perseus, actually had the papers Mr. Wedderburn was to carry to France, it would be better if the emissary would wait and see Mr. Caryl.