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A Monk of Fife by Andrew Lang
page 65 of 341 (19%)
retreat. There I stopped, deeming that the wicket must be locked. The
men were now rowing the boat into the middle of the water, so, without
expecting to find the gate open, I tried the handle. It turned, to my no
little amazement; the gate swang lightly aside, as if its hinges had been
newly oiled, and I followed the staircase, creeping up the slimy steps in
the half-dark. Up and round I went, till I was wellnigh giddy, and then
I tripped and reeled so that my body struck against a heavy ironed door.
Under my weight it yielded gently, and I stumbled across the threshold of
a room that smelled strangely sweet and was very warm, being full of the
sun, and the heat of a great fire.

"Is that you, Robin of my heart?" said a girl's voice in French; and,
before I could move, a pair of arms were round my neck. Back she leaped,
finding me all wet, and not the man she looked for; and there we both
stood, in a surprise that prevented either of us from speaking.

She was a pretty lass, with brown hair and bright red cheeks, and was
dressed all in white, being, indeed, one of the laundresses of the
castle; and this warm room, fragrant with lavender, whereinto I had
stumbled, was part of the castle laundry. A mighty fire was burning, and
all the tables were covered with piles and flat baskets of white linen,
sweet with scented herbs.

Back the maid stepped towards the door, keeping her eyes on mine; and, as
she did not scream, I deemed that none were within hearing: wherein I was
wrong, and she had another reason for holding her peace.

"Save me, gentle maid, if you may," I cried at last, falling on my knees,
just where I stood: "I am a luckless man, and stand in much peril of my
life."
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