His face was downcast. She leaned a little towards him. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. He leapt down into the haha surrounding the terrace, and saw that the nun was there also and backing towards him, anxiously checking now and then above the level of the terrace. . Quite right. See? Nothing really. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian.
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