"It shall be as you say," Roger replied at last, and from their chain mail the gleam of the lantern they carried evoked intermittent answer. When their steps had died to silence Tristan turned to the monk. His voice was unsteady and there was a great fear in his eyes. "Father, I need your help as have I never needed human help before. There is some devil's stew simmering in the Lord Basil's cauldron. I fear the worst for her--" Odo shot a questioning glance at the speaker. "The wife of the Count Laval?" he returned sharply. "Father--you know why I am here--and how I have striven to tear this love from my heart and soul. Would she had not come! Would I had never seen her more--for where is it all to lead? For, after all, she is his wife--and I am the transgressor. But now I fear for her life. You have heard, Father. I must see her! I must have speech with her. I must warn her. Father--I promise--that shall be all--if you will but consent and find her--for I know not her abode." "You promise--" interposed the monk. "Promise nothing. For if you meet, it will not be all. All flesh is weak. Entrust your message to my care and I shall try to do your bidding. But see her no more! Your souls are in grave peril--and Death stands behind you, waiting the last throw." "Even if our souls should be forever stamped with their dark errors I must see her. I must know why she came hither--I must know the worst. Else should I never find rest this side of the grave. Father, in mercy, do my bidding, for gloom and misery hold my soul in their clutches, and I must know, ere the twilight of Eternity engulfs us both." "We will speak of this anon," the Monk of Cluny interposed, as together they left the gallery, now sunk in the deepest gloom and, passing through the vaulted corridors, emerged upon the ramparts. No sign of life appeared in the twilight, cast by the towering walls, save where in the shadowy passages the dimmed lights of cressets marked the passing of armed men. Below, the city of Rome began to take shape in the dim and ghostly starlight, thrusting shadowy domes and towers out of her dark slumber. In the distance the undulating crests of the Alban Hills mingled with the night mists, and from the nearby Neronian Field came the croaking of the ravens, intensifying rather than breaking the stillness. CHAPTER VI A MEETING OF GHOSTS