There, by the high altar, Tristan saw a form that seemed at first but a phantom, in which he presently recognized Hellayne, the dim rays of the distant tapers searching out the white robe with which her limbs were draped. She was alone, and he knew at once that it was but the natural fear consequent upon awakening in such a place, that had evoked the cry he had heard. "Hellayne!" he called, advancing swiftly to reassure her. "Hellayne!" There was a gasp, a moment's silence. "Tristan?" she cried questioningly. "What has happened? Why am I here?" He was beside her now and found her trembling like an aspen. "Something horrible has happened, my Hellayne," he replied. "But it is over now, and the evil is averted." "What is it?" she insisted, pale as death. "Why am I here?" "You shall learn presently." He stooped, to gather up the cloak, which had slipped from her shoulders. "Do you wrap this about you," he urged, assisting her with his own hands. "Are you faint, Hellayne?" "I scarce know," she answered, in a frightened voice. "There is a black horror upon me. Tell me," she implored again, "Why am I here? What does it all mean?" He drew her away now, promising to tell her everything once she were out of these forbidding surroundings. He assisted her to the sacristy and, seating her upon a settle, produced the wine skin. At first she babbled like a child, of not being thirsty, but he insisted. "It is not a matter of quenching your thirst, dearest Hellayne. The wine will warm and revive you! Come, dearest--drink!" She obeyed him now, and having got the first gulp down her throat, she took a long draught, which soon produced a healthier color, driving the ashen pallor from her cheeks. "I am cold, Tristan," she shuddered. He turned to the drawer in which he had espied the monks' habits and pulling one out, held it for her to put on. She sat there now in that garment of coarse black cloth, the cowl flung back upon her shoulder, the fairest postulant that ever entered upon a novitiate. "You are good to me, Tristan," she murmured plaintively, "and I have used you very ill! You do not love that other woman?" She paused, passing her hand across her brow. "Only you, dearest--only you!" "What is the hour?" she turned to him suddenly. It was a matter he left unheeded. He bade her brace herself, and take courage to listen to what he was about to tell. He assured her that the horror of it all was passed and that she had naught to fear. "But--how came I here?" she cried. "I must have lain in a swoon, for I remember nothing." And then her quick mind, leaping to a reasonable conclusion, and assisted perhaps by the memory of the shattered catafalque which she had seen, her eyes dilating with a curious affright as they were turned upon his own, she asked of a sudden: "Did you believe that I was dead?" "Yes," he replied with an unnatural calm in his voice. "Every one believed you were dead, Hellayne."