The buildings were black and solemn, though a faint ray of light shone from the window of the chapel. It was the vigil of St. Florence, and Martin had left two candles burning on the altar while he slept for an hour.
Kate looked into the chapel and found it empty. She knelt on the threshold, put her hands together, and said a prayer.
Martin Valliant was sound asleep in his cell, but he awoke to the sound of some one knocking. He sat up on his pallet, and listened.
“Martin Valliant—Martin Valliant!”
He knew her voice, and for a moment he would not answer her.
“Martin Valliant, be not angry with me. I am not breaking my vow to you; no, not in the spirit. I have come to warn you.”
“Child, what mean you?”
“Beware of Brother Geraint, beware of the monks of Paradise. They go about to do you a great wrong.”
He rose to his knees.
“How should you know?”