Kate did not trouble her head as to whether anyone had seen her from the mill. She set the donkey’s nose for the Forest, and helped him with her heels. Luckily, she knew the way, and soon the moon came over the hill to help her. “A blessing on you, Master Moon,” she said quite solemnly, looking over the donkey’s tail. The clock at Paradise was striking midnight when Kate saw the Black Moor lying dim and mysterious under the moon. More than once she had been shrewdly frightened in the deeps of the woods; but old Jock was the most stolid of mokes, and the beast’s steadiness had comforted her. She had stretched herself on his back, her arms about his neck, her face close to his flopping ears, and had talked to him. “Who’s afraid, Jock? I can say a Mater Maria and a Pater. Besides, we are on a good errand, and the saints will watch over us.” Jock, by his silence, most heartily agreed with her. “Dom Geraint is a treacherous villain. The lean, black rat! Some day Abbot Hilary will send for Martin Valliant and will make him prior.” She sat up straight on Jock’s back as the donkey climbed the moor. The place had a magic for her. She could imagine all sorts of miraculous things happening where Martin Valliant lived. “Assuredly he will be a very great saint,” she said to herself, “and people will come to him to be healed.” Presently she saw the cross standing out against the sky, and it stirred her almost to passionate tears. She slipped off Jock’s back, fastened him to a stunted thorn, and went on alone. Everything was very still. In the far south the sea glimmered under the moon. Kate went forward with a strange, exultant awe in her heart. Martin would pardon her for breaking her promise when he knew why she had come. The buildings were black and solemn, though a faint ray of light shone from the window of the chapel. It was the vigil of St. Florence, and Martin had left two candles burning on the altar while he slept for an hour. Kate looked into the chapel and found it empty. She knelt on the threshold, put her hands together, and said a prayer. Martin Valliant was sound asleep in his cell, but he awoke to the sound of some one knocking. He sat up on his pallet, and listened. “Martin Valliant—Martin Valliant!” He knew her voice, and for a moment he would not answer her. “Martin Valliant, be not angry with me. I am not breaking my vow to you; no, not in the spirit. I have come to warn you.” “Child, what mean you?” “Beware of Brother Geraint, beware of the monks of Paradise. They go about to do you a great wrong.” He rose to his knees. “How should you know?” “Listen. I speak what is true.” She told him of the things she had heard Geraint whisper in the garden. “They are evil men, and mean treachery toward you. I could not rest, Martin Valliant, because you are a good man, and taught me to see the Christ.” There was silence. Then she said, “Pray for me, Martin Valliant,” and was gone.