“And you think you can carry me as well as all that, John?”
“It can be done.”
“I am not so selfish as that. I have stolen your cloak already.”
“There is another on the horse.”
“Instead of carrying me, John, give me something to carry.”
He looked at the thin hands she held out to him.
“There is your book.”
“Yes, but I can take more than that.”
“As for that, we will see what the grass is like when we get over the moat.”
They went out together into the court-yard, where the moonlight came down upon the checker of stones outlined and interlaced with grass and weeds. Above them rose the black tower, dark as with mystery, while on every hand dim, silvery hills rose toward the frosty curtain of the sky.