“Now—canst climb the wall with me?” he asked, gazing at her in her transformation, and noting how pure and white her skin showed in its dark frame. She gasped and bent her head. Thereupon he seized her in his arms and carried her to the wall. There she surpassed his hopes; for her old, tomboyish skill suddenly came back to her, and she scrambled up the rough stones more agilely than he. Once in the road outside the garden, Flammecœur gave a low whistle. Then, out of the shadow of the wood, on the north side of the road, came Yvain, riding one steed, and leading that of Flammecœur, on which were both saddle and pillion. Flammecœur leaped to his place, and, bending over, held out his hand to Laure. “Thou comest freely,” he whispered. Laure looked up into his eyes. “Freely,” she answered, surrendering her soul. He laughed again, softly, as she climbed up behind him, by the help of his feet and his hands. And then, in another moment, they were off, into the moonlit night. And what that night concealed from Laure, what future of fierce joy, of terror, of misery, and of unutterable heartbreak, how should she know, poor girl, whose only guide was God Inscrutable, working His mysterious way alone, in heaven on high? [Illustration] _CHAPTER FIVE_ SHADOWS [Illustration] On the day after Laure’s flight, Madame Eleanore left the great dinner-table and went to her bedroom early in the afternoon. Once again, as a year ago, she was alone there, hovering over her priedieu. Only this day was not sunny, but cold and damp, and very gray. Eleanore was in her usual mood of lonely melancholy, but when Alixe tapped at the door she was admitted, and madame ceased her devotions and bade the girl come in and sit down to her embroidery frame beside the window. Latterly it had become a habit of Alixe’s to break in upon her foster-mother’s elected solitude, and to draw her, willy-nilly, out of her sadness. If madame perceived the kindly intention in these interruptions, she did not comment upon it, but accepted the maid’s devotion with growing affection. When Alixe entered, madame also seated herself near the window, yet did not take up any work, leaving the tambour frame and spinning-wheel both idle in their places. She regarded Alixe for a few moments in silence, wondering why the young girl did not speak, finally putting her dulness down to the fact that it was but yesterday morning they had bidden Flammecœur and his squire God-speed on their journey to Normandy. Their long sojourn at Crépuscule had brought a gayety to the Castle that made it doubly dull now that they were gone. Madame pondered for some time on the subject, and presently spoke of it. “Sieur Bertrand hath a dreary sky for his journey.” “But a promise of beauty in the land to which he goeth,” responded Alixe, with something of an effort. “Mayhap. I have not been in Normandy.”