A sudden gust made such a bluster that her voice died almost unheard in the night. There was a vague clangour without, as of arms, and the knocking re-echoed sullenly through the room. A lull came again. "Who knocks?" This time an answer came back to her. "I--Flavian." She caught her breath and shivered. "What do you want at midnight, and in such a storm?" "Let me in. Open to me." "No--no." "Open to me." "Are you still mad?" Silence held a moment. Then the voice rose again, with the hoarse moan of the wind for an underchant. "Liberty, liberty, I am free, I am free." She shrank aside against the wall. "The night gave me my chance; I have men in the wood. Let me in." "Ah, messire." "I plead for love and my own soul. I come to give you life, sword, all. I cannot leave you; I am in outer darkness; you are in heaven. Let me in." She stood swaying like a reed in a breeze. Her brain glowed like some rich scheme of colour, some sun-ravished garden. The massed moan of a hundred viols seemed to sweep over her soul. God, for the courage to be weak! "Yeoland! Yeoland! have you no word for me?" Her hand trembled to the door; her fingers closed upon the key. She hesitated and her dangling rosary caught her glance; sudden revulsions of purpose flooded back; she stumbled away from the door like one about to faint. "I cannot, I cannot," she said. "I will break down the door." The threat inspired her. "No, no, not thus can you win me." "I will break in." "Attempt it, and I will call the guard. You will lose hope of me for ever. I swear it." Her voice rang true and strong as a sword. With her judgment, silence fell again, and ages seemed to crawl over the world. When the man spoke again, his voice was less masterful, more pathetic. "Have you no hope for me?" it said. "I have given you life." "What is life without love?" She sighed very bitterly. "Messire, you do not understand," she said. "No, you are a riddle to me." "A riddle that you may read anon; time will show you the truth. I tell you I am given to God. Only in one way can you win me." "Are you solemn over this?" "Solemn as death." "Tell me that only way." "Only by breaking the bonds about my soul, by liberating me from myself, by battle and through perils that you cannot tell." "War and the sword!" "Yet not to-night. You would need ten thousand men to take me from this cliff. I advise you for your good. Only by great power and the sword can you win your desire." "By God, then, let it be war." An utter sense of loneliness flooded over her. She sobbed in her throat, leant against the door, listened, waited. The wind roared without, the rain beat upon the quaking casement, and she heard the multitudinous moaning of the pines. No voice companioned her, and the night was void.