in the moonlight, through some opening in the roof, she took refuge
in the darkest corner, though aware as she crouched there, that if
this were indeed the Templar, concealment would be vain, and
remembering suddenly that she was out of reach of the loophole-
window.

And therewith there was a tired sound in the tread, as if the
Templar found his weird a very length one; then a long heavy
breath, with something so essentially human in its sound that the
fluttering heart beat more steadily. If reason told her that the
living were more perilous to her than the dead, yet feeling
infinitely preferred them! It might be Nanon Rotrou after all;
then how foolish to be crouching there in a fright! It was
rustling through the hay. No-no Nanon; it is a male figure, it has
a long cloak on. Ah! it is in the moonlight-silver hair--silver
beard. The Templar! Fascinated with dismay, yet calling to mind
that no ghost has power unless addressed, she sat still, crossing
herself in silence, but unable to call to mind any prayer or
invocation save a continuous 'Ave Mary,' and trying to restrain her
gasping breath, lest, if he were not the Templar after all, he
might discover her presence.

He moved about, took off his cloak, laid it down near the hay, then
his cap, not a helmet after all, and there was no fiery cross.

He was in the gloom again, and she heard him moving much as though
he were pulling down the hay to form a bed. Did ghosts ever do
anything so sensible? If he were an embodied spirit, would it be
possible to creep past him and escape while he lay asleep? She was
almost becoming familiarized with the presence, and the