"Yes, my brother, my heart is very full. I cannot speak all the things I feel."
Musa swung into his saddle; the men-at-arms of Hardouin who were to escort him to Marseilles cantered after. They saw the Spaniard climb a hillock; just at the curve he gave one sweep of the hand—was gone. Mary laid her head on Richard's shoulder, and spoke nothing for a long time. Then they rode to La Haye together, and neither had heart for idle speech.
At the castle gate Sebastian met them, his face—so far as he ever suffered it—twisted with a smile.
"Glory to St. Raphael! The unbeliever is departed!"
"Musa is gone," answered Richard, soberly.
"Praises to God! the devil hath reclaimed his own! the lake of unquenchable fire—"
But he spoke no more. Richard had knotted his fist and with one buffet felled the priest, so that he did not speak for a good while; and when he did, Mary observed that never by word or deed did he recall the Spaniard.