"I also have fought for the Cross, though I be but a churl," said the
dark-faced man.
"You are no churl," answered Gilbert, gravely. "Kneel beside me and
watch."
"I will watch with you," said Dunstan, and he took his own sword and
laid it next to Gilbert's.
But he knelt one step behind his master, on his left side. More than
forty burning lamps hung above the stone of the Tomb, and around the
stone itself stood a grating of well-wrought iron having a wicket with
a lock of pure gold.
Then Gilbert raised his eyes, and looking through the iron fence, he
saw that on the other side some one was kneeling also, and it was the
Lady Anne of Auch, robed all in black, with a black hood half thrown
back; but her face was white, with dark shadows, and her two white
hands clasped two of the iron stanchions, while her sad eyes looked
upwards fixedly, seeing a vision, and not seeing men. Gilbert was glad
that she was there.
So they knelt an hour, and another hour, and no sound broke the
stillness, nor did they feel any weariness at all, for their hearts
were lifted up, and for a time the world fell away from them. Then a
soft sound of footsteps was in the church, ceasing at some distance
from the Tomb, which was not then shut off within walls of its own. But
none of the three turned to see who was there, and there was silence
again.
Eleanor had come alone to the Sepulchre, and stood gazing at the three,
not willing to come nearer. As she looked, her sins rose in her eyes
and passed before her, many and great, and where her good deeds were
hidden in her soul there was darkness, and she despaired of
forgiveness, for she knew her own pride, that it could never be broken
in her.
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