"I may remember," he repeated; "and, besides, why should you be less kind to me? I always look forward to my own room and you."
There was a tone of sadness in his voice, and she was angry with herself for occasioning it. Because she was sad, was that a reason why she should make this poor fellow miserable? Would he not do anything to serve her which fell within the power of the poor wits God had given him?
"I will come," she said.
"You must wrap a thick cloak about you," said Martin. "It is raining heavily."
She left him for a moment and quickly returned, closely wrapped up.
"Tread lightly," said Martin. "I always like to think that these evenings when you come to my tower are secret meetings, that the world must not know of them. I pretend sometimes that we are followed, and must go warily."
"Foolish Martin!"
They reached the terrace by a small door, and went quickly through the ruins to the tower. The door was still locked. Martin had evidently only just returned to the Abbey, and had not yet entered his tower.
"Give me your hand up the stairs," he said.
"Why, Martin, I must know every turn in them as well as you do," she answered.