The girl Yeoland was at her prayer-desk with a blazoned breviary under her fingers, when Fulviac came to her with tidings of the day's capture. She knelt with her hands crossed upon her bosom, as Fulviac stood in the darkened doorway. To the man she appeared as the Madonna in some picture of the Annunciation, the yellow light from the lamp streaming down upon her with a lustre of sanctity.
"They have brought the boar home."
"Dead?"
"Nay; but his corpse candle walks the cavern."
For the girl it was a descent from spiritual themes to the stark realism of life. She left her prayer-desk with a little sigh. Her hands trembled as she drew a scarlet cloak about her, and fastened it with a girdle of green leather. Her eyes dwelt on Fulviac's face with a species of dusky pain.
"Come," he said to her.
"Whither?"
"To judge him."
"Not before all, not in the guard-room."
"Leave it to me," he said. "Be forewarned. We deal with no mere swashbuckler."