Rudolph came slowly, carrying in his arms the woman,
who lay quiet and limp, clasping him in a kind of drowsy oblivion. He
felt the flutter of her lips, while she whispered in his ear strange,
breathless entreaties, a broken murmur of endearments, unheard-of, which
tempted him more than the wide, alluring darkness of the river.
He lowered her slowly; and leaning against the gunwale, she still clung
to his hands.
"Aboard! Quickly!" snapped their leader, from the dusk behind the
lantern.
Obeying by impulse, Rudolph moved nearer the gunwale. The slippery edge,
polished by bare feet through many years, seemed the one bit of reality
in this dream, except the warmth of her hands.
"To the nunnery?" he asked, trying dully to rouse from a fascination.
"No, no," she wailed. "Down--away--safe."
"No, back to them," he answered stupidly. "They are all there. Your--he
is there. We can't leave--"
"You fool!" Chantel swore in one tongue, and in another cried to the
boatman--"Shove off, if they won't come!" He seized the woman roughly
and pulled her on board; but she reached out and caught Rudolph's
hand again.
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