The monks filed slowly out of the dark, narrow, vaulted hall; the Umbrian and one other remained to clear away the remnants of the meal.
"Will you take this to your dog?" said the priest, as he heaped up the remnants. "You did well not to bring him here; the Superior would not have loved so big a brute."
"Thanks," said Erceldoune, as he took some broken food; "and do you come to my cell, good father, I have something more cheering in my flask than your water and goat's milk."
The Umbrian's eyes glistened with delight, though a shadow of grievous disappointment stole quickly over his features.
"Another night, my son,—to-morrow night I shall be free," he whispered. "This evening I must attend the offices. Yon know your way back, and you can undress by moonlight? We have no other light, save in the chapel."
Erceldoune, wearily enough, nodded assent, and with a brief word of thanks paced through the long passages to his dormitory. He could do no more; he must wait and watch, and be content that he was near her. He could not tell in what part of the building she was lodged; he must await time to learn that, and learn the means to reach her. With the
