CHAPTER XVII. THE GHOSTS OF THE TEMPLARS



'Tis said, as through the aisles they passed,
They heard strange voices on the blast,
And through the cloister galleries small,
Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall,
Loud sobs and laughter louder ran,
And voices unlike the voice of man,
As if the fiends kept holiday.
Scott, LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL


'Ill news, Martin, I see by your look!' cried Eustacie, starting to
her feet from the heap of straw on which she was sitting in his
cowhouse, one early April day, about seven weeks since her evasion
from the convent.

'Not so, I hope, Madame, but I do not feel at ease. Monsieur has
not sent for me, nor told me his plans for the morrow, and I much
doubt me whether that bode not a search here. Now I see a plan,
provided Madame would trust herself to a Huguenot.'

'They would guard me for my husband's sake.'