“Well, Hilda,” he said at last, “have you the courage to go with me, all unadvised, all unchaperoned, to the chapel this afternoon at three o’clock?”
She rose slowly, still without looking at him, placed her hands on his shoulders, then slipped them round his neck, laying her cheek beside his.
“It requires no courage, Roland,” she whispered, “to go anywhere if you are with me. I need to call up my courage only when I think with a shudder of our being separated.”
Some minutes elapsed before conversation was resumed.
“Where is the Archbishop?” asked Roland, in belated manner remembering his host.
“He and the Count Palatine went out together about an hour since. I think they were somewhat disturbed at the unusual commotion, and desired to know what it meant. Do you want to consult my guardian after all?”
“Not unless you desire me to do so?”
“I wish only what you wish, Roland.”
“I am glad his Lordship is absent. Let us to the garden, Hilda, and discover a quiet exit if we can.”
A stout door was found in the wall to the rear, almost concealed with shrubbery. The bolts were strong, and rusted in, but the prowess of Roland overcame them, and he drew the door partially open. It looked out upon a narrow alley with another high wall opposite. Roland looked up and down the lane, and saw it was completely deserted.