shook through her.

"Well, child," said he, "dry your tears, and turn your face to such
light as there is, being well assured of this, that whatever he asked
of you he did not get, and that he will ask no more."

"I fear him, I fear him," she said very low--and again, "I fear him, I
fear him."

"Drat the monk," said Prosper, laughing, "is he to cut me out of a
compliment?"

Whereupon she turned a very woebegone and tearful face up to his. He
looked smilingly down; a sudden wave of half-humbrous pity for a thing
so frail and amazed swam about him; before he knew he had kissed her
cheek. This set her blushing a little; but she seemed to take heart,
smiled rather pitifully, and turned again with a sigh, like a baby's
for sleep.

The night gathered apace with a chill wind; some fine rain began to
fall, then heavy drops. Gradually the wind increased, and the rain
with it. "Now we shall have it," said Prosper, sniffing for the storm.
He covered Isoult with his cloak, folded it about her as best he
could, and tucked it in; she lay in his arms snug enough, and slept
while he urged his horse over the stubbed heath. The water hissed and
ran over the baked earth; where had been dry channels, rents and
scars, full of dust, were now singing torrents and broad pools fetlock
deep. Prosper let his good beast go his own gait, which was a sober
trot, and ever and again as he heard the ripple of running water and
the swirl and suck of the eddies in it, he judged that he must soon or