The bar was in her hands, and the door moved so that Martin saw a little streak of light. His heart seemed to stand still, and then beat like the heart of a man who is afraid. “Martin!” He did not answer her. “There is danger for you—there. They might creep up while you are sleeping. Oh! what am I saying, what is this dread that makes me a coward? But I am not a coward, and I love you. See—you can sleep here, across my door, so that no one can touch you.” She threw the door open, and the gray light from her room fell upon his face. She was all shadow, wrapped in a cloak that had been found for her—a vague, soft outline that seemed to yearn toward him, a dream begotten of the night, tender, mysterious. He covered his face with his hands. “Mellis!” “Is there pride between us, and no sweet faith? Am I asking you to do a shameful thing? Why, this is no more than a simple room, where I breathe and move—and sleep. I have a great fear for you to-night; I want you near me.” He was silent. “Martin, would you shame me, hold aloof as though I had tempted you?” She caught his hands, and drew them from his face. “Oh! I am wounded—if you have no faith!” “Mellis!” “Yes—wounded, to the heart! Oh! my dear love!” He lifted her hands and kissed them almost fiercely. “It shall be as you wish. This room is a chapel, its altar—where you sleep.” He was over the threshold, and freeing a hand, she softly closed the door. Her breath came quickly, with a flutter of exultation. “Oh, my dear lord, my man, is this not a great sacrament between us? Now—you have made me happy; is it not strange? See—you will lie here; there is bracken, and I will spread it; and here—is a wallet for a pillow.” She glided about the room with innocent joy. “Set your sword there. Now, we are in our castle, and I have no fear. Shall we pray, kneel down like children?” She caught his hand, and they knelt down side by side. Their prayers were said in silence, such prayers as save this world of ours from the doom that it has earned. She started up suddenly, took his face between her hands, and kissed him. “Dear heart, good-night!” Mellis stretched herself on the bed, and Martin went to his couch of bracken by the door. Neither of them spoke again, but they lay awake for a long while, listening to each other’s breathing. _Chapter XXXV_ Martin Valliant was asleep when a man crawled up the stairs, groped his way to the closed door, lay there a moment listening, and then crawled back by the way he had come. A number of figures showed black about a fire that had been lit in the center of the roofless hall. John Falconer was there, sullen, heavy-eyed—a man who found no pleasure in looking at his own thoughts; also Sir Gregory, skull-faced and ominous, with blue eyes that stared. A hot posset was going around in a big tankard. These gentlemen had but little to say to one another; they were waiting; the case had been heard, and judgment given.