There were some children standing staring at his horse when Aymery came out from the wicket in the hedge of thorns. He paid no heed to them however, and taking his horse by the bridle, led him to the oak thicket on the hillside below Virgin’s Croft. The children ran away into the town, and told their mothers that they had seen a knight come out of St. Denise’s gate with a naked sword over his shoulder. The children’s tale-bearing caused some tattle in the Abbey town, and the Abbey servants heard it. Thus these two, soldier and saint, passed the night within call of one another; Aymery kneeling bareheaded under the stars, with sword and shield before him; Denise pitiably wakeful in her cell, conscious of the darkness, and of that shadow of darkness that grew each day more heavy about her heart. She prayed for Aymery that night, prayed for herself, and against the future that she dreaded. They were so near to each other, and yet so utterly apart. It seemed to Denise that night that she had fled to this place of refuge, only to meet the greater bitterness and shame. At last the dawn came, and with it the sound of a horse moving over the grass. She heard Aymery come riding up to the hedge of thorns. She saw his sword flash out against the dawn as he stood in the stirrups and called her name. “Denise, Denise!” “God keep you,” she answered him in her heart. He went away into the world at a gallop, as though it was easier to leave her thus in the gold and green of a summer morning. Aymery had been gone but half an hour when a monk and two lay brethren came hurrying over Mountjoye Hill. Their figures looked dark, intent, outlined against the virginal clearness of the dawn. The monk was Dom Silvius, and his eyes were sharp and watchful. He came alone to Denise’s cell, leaving the two lay brothers at the gate in the hedge. Denise was washing her neck and bosom; she had closed the door, and suffered Silvius to speak to her from without. She soon learnt that he had heard of Aymery’s coming, and that he desired to discover the reason thereof. “It was one who rode here, Father, to have his arms blessed. He is on the eve of knighthood, and kept his vigil in the wood, yonder.” Silvius’s face was very astute, he stroked his chin and considered. There was nothing of the dreamer about him that morning. “And the offering, Sister, the offering?” Denise did not choose to understand. “What offering, Father?” “That which the man left, for the blessing.” “He left no offering with me,” she said. “No gift, Sister, nothing out of gratitude for the blessing?” “No.” “Not even a ring or a piece of money?” “Nothing.” Silvius’s face condemned such vagrant meanness. He hid his vexation, and spoke softly, remembering that he was dealing with a certain sensitive thing called woman.