The Argosy — page 135: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

120 A Romance of the Cloister. hastened towards the meeting-place. In the lightning-like transit, for she flew rather than ran, a thousand apprehensions distracted her mind. ‘The passage of the garden occupied a few minutes only, yet every instant of suspense seemed a long, weary hour, every step of the way a mile laboriously trodden, and with electric swiftness one agonised question arose after another. Would the counted-on deliverer indeed be there? Would the last, most hazardous feat be accomplished ? And that horrible wall once surmounted, should she reach a haven of safety ? The nearer her goal, the more delusive and chimerical seemed her hopes. Oh, no! Such over-joy could not, could not be! The moon was suddenly hid as she reached the meeting place, and that blessed obscuration made the rest easy. Her trembling fingers felt the rungs of the ladder, a low whisper from above en- couraged her to climb. Gently, yet firmly, she is then supported by one pair of arms, whilst by another the ladder is deftly lifted and re-adjusted for the descent. ‘The three get down in safety and the light of a lantern now reveals to the sobbing, too thankful girl that her second deliverer is a woman. “ My landlady, the Mere Michon—Jeanne Marie,” exclaimed the young man in a low voice. ‘“‘I could not manage things alone, and — she has a good heart. She pitied you! But quick! let us make haste to hide ourselves and form a plan.” The three hurried on for a few hundred yards, then struck into a by-road, where they soon reached a road-maker’s hut, now dark and deserted. Behind stretched a pine wood in which cuttings had been made, and here, amidst the fallen trunks and chips, the rustic paladin concealed his ladder. ‘Now, Jeanne Marie,” he said, ‘‘you take the sister inside and change her clothes, whilst I keep watch. When you are ready, call me and we will consider what is best to do next.” ‘There! leave off crying and praying, my dear,” cried the rough, warm-hearted peasant woman. ‘‘ Elie has thought of everything. Here’s my best Sunday gown, jacket and hood (you’ll think of me when you get home, I know) ; put this basket on your arm. I packed in a bit of cheese, bread and some cherries to eat on the way. I’m a poor woman, you know, but I never yet did a kind deed without being rewarded twice over. Now, if anyone guesses that you are a nun and not Elie’s sister or wife (no offence! ) trudging with linen to market, it is no acuteness I'll credit them with, but just promptings of the evil one. Come in, Elie, lad ; she is all ready.” ‘Where do your parents live?” he asked. ‘There is not a moment to lose.” ‘My name is de Grandial; my home is the Chateau Grandial, in the Morran,” she replied, her wild exultation for a moment subdued, an expression even of pensiveness stealing over her face. ‘* But who knows? Perhaps I have no longer father or mother living. We are Gomichbooks.co