Men whose day's work was over, hastened to reach the rest and comfort of wife and home.

Crowds jostled gaily through the streets, little dreaming that beneath their hurrying, busy feet, the Knight and the Prioress paced slowly, side by side, through the darkness.
Had the Knight spoken, her mind would have been up in arms to resist him.

But, because he walked in silence, her heart had leisure to remember; and, remembering, it grew sorely tender.
At length they reached the doorway leading into the Cathedral crypt.
The Prioress carried the key in her left hand.

Freeing her right from the grip of his arm, she slipped the key noiselessly into the lock; but, leaving it there unturned, she paused, and faced the Knight.
"Hugh," she said, "I beg you, for my sake and for the sake of all whose fair fame is under my care, to pass through quickly into the crypt, and to go from thence, if possible, unseen, or in such manner as shall prevent any suspicion that you come from out this hidden way.

Tales of wrong are told so readily, and so quickly grow." "I will observe the utmost caution," said the Knight.
"Hugh," she said, "I grieve to have had, perforce, to disappoint you." The brave voice shook.