and beauty of her face swept a shadow, as of bitter memory.
"No—no!" she answered them, in their own Moldavian tongue. "Go to the convent of Monastica; it is nearer, and they will tend him better there. If any can save him, the Sisters will."
"And we are to tell them?"
"Tell him where you found this stranger, lying as one dead, and powerless to say who are his assassins; do not give my name, or speak of me; that he is wounded, and alone, and in need, will be enough to gain him care and pity at Monastica. When you have left him in safety at the convent, come back here; you shall bury the horse, it shall not be food for vultures. Now go—each moment is precious. I shall know with what fidelity you serve him, and shall reward you as you do it well."
Yet, though she had bidden them go, she stood still, looking down on the litter where Erceldoune lay; she had saved this man's life at peril of her own, yet they would probably never meet again; she had redeemed him from amidst the dead, yet he would have no memory of her, no knowledge that she had been with him in the hour of his extremity, and rescued him from his grave. Her eyes dwelt on him in a silent farewell, and a certain tenderness
