The sky was beginning to glow again as it had done last night with the clear radiance of a cloudless sunset; and the tall west tower stood up bright in the glory. How infinitely far away last night seemed now, little and yet distinct as a landscape seen through a reversed telescope! How far away that silent waiting at the cloister door, the clamour at the gate, the forced entrance, the slipping away through the church!
The smoke was rising faster than ever now from the great chimney, and hung in a cloud above the buildings. Perhaps even now the lead was being cast.
There was a clatter at the corner of the cobbled street below, and Dom Anthony leaned from the window. He drew back.
“It is the horses,” he said.
The servant presently came up to announce that the two gentlemen were following immediately, and that he had had orders to procure horses and saddle them at once. He had understood Sir James to say that they must leave that night.
Mr. Morris hurried out to see to the packing.
In five minutes the gentlemen themselves appeared.
Sir James came quickly across to the two monks.
“We must go to-night, Chris,” he said. “We had words with Portinari. You must not remain longer in the town.”
Chris looked at him.