In a second, it seemed, they were galloping away, Mistress Penwick
throwing back a long, sweeping glance at the great, stone pile behind
her. The train of her brocade skirt hung almost to the ground; her
fair, sloping shoulders, her exquisite face framed in a high roll of
amber beauty, made a picture,--a rare gem encircled by a gorgeous June
night.
On they rode without converse; Dempsy was a brave man, yet he feared
and justly, too, that Mistress Pen wick might be taken from him before
they reached the monastery, therefore he enjoined silence, and the
best speed of their horses, and kept a hand upon his sword.
He drew a sigh of relief when he beheld the dark outline of the
cloister that appeared quiet and undisturbed.
As they approached, Cantemir came from the open door and lifted
Mistress Penwick from her horse in a most tender fashion, and would
have held her close and imprinted a kiss upon her forehead had she not
drawn from him and raised her hand to his lips.
"'Tis a cold greeting, Katherine, after these long, weary days of
separation.
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