So the day came, and with it Marpasse, holly staff in hand, alert, and on her guard. But she was disarmed that morning by Denise herself. The first glimpse of that tragic and troubled face drove the rougher words out of Marpasse’s mouth. She took Denise in her arms, and kissed her, seeing in those brown eyes such deeps of sincerity and sadness, that Marpasse humbled herself, feeling herself near to something greater than a woman’s whim.
Marpasse guessed what Denise had to say. The renunciation lay in the brown eyes like a dim mist of tears.
“I am going away, Marpasse,” she said. “I have thought of it all the night.”
Marpasse hid her impulses, and was patient and very gentle.
“Heart of mine, where will you go?”
“To Earl Simon.”
Marpasse opened her eyes.
“I shall go to him, and put everything before him. He has a great heart, Marpasse, and his lady has the soul of Mary—Our Mother. Nor shall I go in vain.”
She spoke very simply, like one resigned, but Marpasse felt the wild heart of a woman who loved palpitating beneath her courage. It was the purpose of one whose knees shook under her, and who strove to keep herself from looking back. A touch, and love would break out, with a great passionate cry. Marpasse saw it all, and took her inspiration.
“So be it, heart of mine,” she said, looking sad enough; “and yet—before you go—there is Father Grimbald yonder. The good man strained a sinew last night, or he would have been here with me this morning. He would not forgive your going without seeing him.”