"I wonder," mused Godwin, "whether I shall ever lead her from the
altar to the Hall, or whether--I shall bide alone by the altar?"

Still he thought it a good omen that she had bidden him thus,
though some might have read it otherwise.

Godwin entered the church, walking softly on the rushes with
which its nave was strewn, and by the light of the lamp that
burnt there always, saw Rosamund kneeling before a little shrine,
her gracious head bowed upon her hands, praying earnestly. Of
what, he wondered--of what?

Still, she did not hear him; so, coming into the chancel, he
stood behind her and waited patiently. At length, with a deep
sigh, Rosamund rose from her knees and turned, and he noted by
the light of the lamp that there were tear-stains upon her face.
Perhaps she, too, had spoken with the Prior John, who was her
confessor also. Who knows? At the least, when her eyes fell upon
Godwin standing like a statue before her, she started, and there
broke from her lips the words:

"Oh, how swift an answer!" Then, recovering herself, added, "To
my message, I mean, cousin."

"I met the women at the door," he said.

"It is kind of you to come," Rosamund went on; "but, in truth,
since that day on Death Creek I fear to walk a bow-shot's length
alone or in the company of women only. With you I feel safe."