"What how, Nigel!" he cried. "Mary has told me that you make a
start this morning, and we have waited here this hour and more on
the chance of seeing you pass. Come, lad, and have a last stoup
of English ale, for many a time amid the sour French wines you
will long for the white foam under your nose, and the good homely
twang of it."
Nigel had to decline the draft, for it meant riding into Guildford
town, a mile out of his course, but very gladly he agreed with
Mary that they should climb the path to the old shrine and offer a
last orison together. The knight and Aylward waited below with
the horses; and so it came about that Nigel and Mary found
themselves alone under the solemn old Gothic arches, in front of
the dark shadowed recess in which gleamed the golden reliquary of
the saint. In silence they knelt side by side in prayer, and then
came forth once more out of the gloom and the shadow into the
fresh sunlit summer morning. They stopped ere they descended the
path, and looked to right and left at the fair meadows and the
blue Wey curling down the valley.
"What have you prayed for, Nigel?" said she.
"I have prayed that God and His saints will hold my spirit high
and will send me back from France in such a fashion that I may
dare to come to you and to claim you for my own."
"Bethink you well what it is that you say, Nigel," said she.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218