A long silence followed, and Unorna leaned against the great slab of carved sandstone.
Even to her there was something awful in his powerless, motionless presence.

The noble face, pale and set as under a mask, the thoughtful brow, the dominating features, were not those of a man born to be a plaything to the will of a woman.

The commanding figure towered in the grim surroundings like a dark statue, erect, unmoving, and in no way weak.

And yet she knew that she had but to speak and the figure would move, the lips would form words, the voice would reach her ear.

He would raise this hand or that, step forwards or backwards, at her command, affirm what she bid him affirm, and deny whatever she chose to hear denied.