CHAPTER XIII

THE CONVENT IN TRASTEVERE

He stared at her speechless, so taken was he with the immensity of the

thing she had suggested. Fear, wonder, joy seemed to contend for the

mastery.

"Why do you look at me so, Tristan?" she said at last. "What is it that

daunts you?"

"But how is this thing possible?" he stammered, still in a state of

bewilderment.

"What difficulty does it present?" she returned. "The Lord Basil

himself has rendered very possible what I suggest. We may look on him

to-morrow as our best friend--"

"But Tebaldo knows," he interposed.

"True! Deem you, he will dare to tell the world what he knows? He might

be asked to tell how he came by his knowledge. And that might prove a

difficult question to answer. Tell me, Tristan," she continued, "if he

had succeeded in carrying me away, what deem you would have been said

to-morrow in Rome when the coffin was found empty?"--

"They would naturally assume that your body had been stolen by some

wizard or some daring doctor of anatomy."

"Ah! And if we were quietly to quit the church and be clear of Rome

before morning--would not the same be said?"

He pondered a while, staggered by the immensity of the risk, when

suddenly a memory flashed through his mind that left his limbs numb as

if they had been paralyzed by a thunderbolt.

It was the night on which the terrible crime at the Lateran was to be

committed. Even now it could not be far from the midnight hour. Did he

dare, even for the consideration of the greatest happiness which the

world and life had to give, to forego his duty towards the Church and

the Senator of Rome?

Hellayne noted his hesitancy.

"Why do you waste precious moments, Tristan?" she queried. "Is it that

you do not love me enough?"

A negative gesture came in response, and his eyes told her more than

words could have expressed.

At last he spoke.

"If I hesitate," he said, trying to avoid the real issue, instead of

stating it without circumlocution, "it is because I would not have you

do now of what, hereafter, you might repent. I would not have you be

misled by the impulse of a moment into an act whose consequences must

endure while life endures."

"Is that the reasoning of love?" she said very quietly. "Is this cold

argument, this weighing of issues consistent with the hot passion you

professed so lately?"

"It is," he replied. "It is because I love you more than I love myself,

that I would have you ponder, ere you adventure your life upon a broken

raft such as mine. You are still the wife of another."

"No!" she replied, her eyes preternaturally brilliant in the intensity

of her emotion. "Hellayne, the wife of Roger de Laval, is dead--as

dead to him, as if she in reality were bedded in the coffin. Where is

he? Where is the man who should have been where you are, Tristan? I

venture to say his grief did not overburden him. He will find ready

consolation in the arms of another for the wife who was to him but

the plaything of his idle hours. He never loved me! He even threatened

to shut me up within convent walls for the rest of my days if I did

not return with him--his mistress,--his wife but in a name, a thing

to submit to his loathsome kisses and caresses, while her soul is

another's. He himself and death, which perchance he himself decreed,

have severed bonds no persuasion would have tempted me to break.

Tristan, I am yours--take me."

She held out her beautiful arms.

He was in mortal torment.

"Nevertheless, Hellayne, to-night of all nights it may not be--" he

stammered. "Listen, dearest--"

"Enough!" she silenced him, as she rose. She swept towards him and,

before he knew it, her hands were on his shoulders, her face upturned,

her blue eyes holding his own, depriving him of will and resistance.

"Tristan," she said, and there was an intensity almost fierce in her

tones, "moments are fleeting, and you stand there reasoning with me and

bidding me weigh what already is weighed for all time. Will you wait

until escape is rendered impossible, until we are discovered, before

you will decide to save me and to grasp with both hands the happiness

that is yours; this happiness that is not twice offered in a lifetime?"

She was so close to him that he could almost feel the beating of

her heart. He was now as wax in her hands. Forgotten were all

considerations of rank and station. They were just man and woman whose

fates were linked together irrevocably. Under the sway of an impulse he

could not resist, he kissed her upturned face, her lips, her eyes. Then

he broke from her clasp and, bracing himself for the task to which they

stood committed by that act, he said, the words tumbling from his lips:

"Hellayne, we know not who is abroad to-night. We know not what

dangers are lurking in the shadows. Tebaldo and his men may even now be

scouring the streets of Rome for a fugitive, and once in their power

all the saints could not save us from our doom. I know not the object

of this plot of which you were the victim, and even the Lord Roger

may be but the dupe of another. I will take you to the convent of the

Blessed Sisters of Santa Maria in Trastevere, that you may dwell there

in safety until I have ascertained that all danger is past. You shall

enter as my sister, trying to escape the attention of an unwelcome

suitor. But the thing that chiefly exercises my mind now is how to make

our escape unobserved."

Hellayne nodded dreamily.

"I have thought of it already."

"You have thought of it?" he replied. "And of what have you thought?"

For answer she stepped back a pace and drew the cowl of the monk's

habit over her head until her features were lost in the shadows. Her

meaning was clear to him at once. With a cry of relief he turned to

the drawer whence he had taken the habit in which she was arrayed and,

selecting another, he hastily donned it above the garments he wore.

No sooner was it done than he caught her by the arm.

There was no time to be lost. Moments were flying.

If he should be too late at the Lateran!

"Come!" he said in an urgent voice.

At the first step she stumbled. The habit was so long that it cumbered

her feet. But that was a difficulty soon overcome. Without regarding

the omen, he cut with his dagger a piece from the skirt, enough to

leave her freedom of movement and, this accomplished, they set out.

They crossed the church swiftly and silently, then entered the porch,

where he left her in order to peer out upon the street. All was quiet.

Rome was wrapt in sleep. From the moon he gleaned it wanted less than

an hour to midnight.

Drawing their cowls about their faces, they abandoned the main streets,

Tristan conducting his charge through narrow alleys, deserted of the

living. These lanes were dark and steep, the moonlight being unable to

penetrate the chasms formed between the tall, ill-favored houses. They

stumbled frequently, and in some places he carried her almost bodily,

to avoid the filth of the quarter they were traversing.

The night was solemn and beautiful. Myriads of stars paved the deep

vault of heaven. The moon, now in her zenith, hung like a silver lamp

in the midst of them; a stream of quivering, rosy light, issuing from

the north, traversed the sky like the tail of some stupendous comet,

sending forth, ever and anon, corruscations like flaming meteors.

At last they reached the Transtiberine region and the convent of

Santa Maria in Trastevere hove into sight. The range of habitations

around were in a ruinous state and the whole aspect of the region was

so dismal as to encourage but few ramblers to venture there after

nightfall.

Passing through the ill-famed quarter of the Sclavonians, where, in

after time, one of the blackest crimes in history was committed,

Tristan and Hellayne at last arrived before the gates of the convent.

They had spoken but little, dreading even the faintest echo of their

footsteps might bring a pursuer on their track. Their summons for

admission was, after a considerable wait, answered by the porter of

the gate, who, upon seeing two monks, relinquished his station by the

wicket and descended to inquire into their behest.

Hellayne shrank up to Tristan, as the latter stated their purpose and

the old monk, unable to understand the jargon of his belated caller,

withdrew, mumbling some equally unintelligible reply.

Hellayne's eyes were those of a frightened deer.

"What will he do, Tristan?" she whispered, "Oh, Tristan, do not leave

me! I feel I shall never see you again, Tristan--my love--take me

away--I am afraid--"

He held her close to him.

"There is nothing to fear, my Hellayne! To-morrow night I shall return

and place you safely where we may see each other till I have absolved

my duties to the Senator. Do not fear, sweetheart! Of all the abodes

in Rome the sanctity of the convent is inviolate! But I hear steps

approaching--some one is coming. Courage, dearest--remember how much is

at stake!"

Another moment and they stood before the Abbess of Santa Maria in

Trastevere.

Summoning all his presence of mind, Tristan told his tale and made

his request. Danger lurking in the infatuation of a Roman noble was

threatening his sister. She had fled from his innuendos and begged the

convent's asylum for a brief space of time, when he, Tristan, would

claim her. He explained Hellayne's attire, and the Abbess, raising the

woman's head, looked long and earnestly into her face.

What she saw seemed to confirm of the truth of Tristan's speech, and

she agreed readily to his request. Tristan kissed Hellayne on the brow,

then, after a brief and affectionate farewell and the assurance that he

would return on the following day, he left her in charge of the Blessed

Sisters. With a sob she followed the Abbess and the gates shut behind

them.

For a moment Tristan felt as if all the world about him was sinking

into a dark bottomless pit.

Then, suppressing an outcry of anguish, his winged feet bore him across

Rome towards the Basilica of St. John in Lateran.