Three Days of Sanctuary [pp. 311-324]

THREE DAYS OF SANCTUARY.
"As my soul lives!" said he. There,
at the altar's foot, they matured their
plans. She would bring him food, in
the morning, to replenish his wasted
strength; she would bring him a sword,
that he might assist in his own deliverance; and she would bring a band of
fifty students to deliver him. As they
heard the sacristan close one of the ponderous doors, they were warned to separate. With a parting kiss, the confiding girl skipped down the nave and left
the building; and he, with the pain of
his wound assuaged, and hope brightening almost into certainty, lay down upon
the altar-step to sleep.
Hugh Martelle slept, and dreamed.
He dreamed of freedom, but not of the
freedom of another land, with the lifelong love of the poor Louise. In his
visions-true companions of his waking
thoughts-he had merely used her to insure his escape, and, after a few months
of cunning intrigue, had purchased amenity for the past, and regained his position at the Court. For this, he had again
abandoned the young girl; and, when he
awoke, the influence of his dreams still
controlled his thoughts, and he raised
himself with a curl of derision upon his
lips.
As he awoke, he bent his ear to listen
for the sounds of deliverance. Then,
remembering that previously she was to
bring him food and a weapon, he eagerly watched to see the light form come
hopefully tripping up the nave. It was
time, for the cold gray of dawn was already stealing through the windows, and
chasing the shadows from every dark
crevice of the arches. The huge doors
had already been thrown open. No
worshipers had yet entered the cathedral; and, if Louise should now come,
they would be alone.
She came at last-not tripping along
in the gayety of anticipated happiness,
but with the quiet tread of terrible deter
mination. The lips were compressed,
and the eyes flashed fire. Her appearance startled him, and, with a thrill of
dread, he glided from behind a pillar
and hesitatingly advanced to meet her.
Summoning a deceitful smile upon his
face, he stretched forth his arms to enfold her, but she sprang aside.
"Touch me not, Sir Hugh Martelle,"
she cried.
"Louise!" he murmured, with a conscious-stricken face, as he partly guessed the truth. Once more he advanced
toward her, but she shrank from him.
"Touch me not!" she exclaimed,
again; and, while her voice, in the shrill
accents of contempt, rang through the
arches, her whole figure trembled with
passion. "Is it true, then, what I heard
spoken last night of you in every street
and lane of the city, in palace-courtwhere I went to listen-and in my own
low hovel, where they made me hear?"
"What, Louise?"-and he stood before her, hardly daring to meet her eye.
"Hearing your name branded with
contempt by all the lowest and basest,
not one of whom would have been low
or base enough to do as you have done!
Hearing the name I once loved, because
I thought it might be a surety for noble
deeds, now hissed and hooted at, and
only mentioned with a sneer or curse!"
"But, dear Louise!" he repeated, with
suppliant, outstretched arms.
"Stand back, Sir Hugh Martelle! I
tell you again that I will not have you
touch me! They say you struck a coward blow; that when you saw your enemy, you did not meet him face to face,
like a man, but stole up behind and slew
him, unsuspicious that danger was nigh."
She knew it was true, for she heard
the story repeated unvaryingly from castle-court to tavern-haunt, and heard nobles and beggars unite in the same curse
upon the coward. Still she bent her
gaze earnestly upon him, hoping to hear
from his own lips a contradiction. But
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