Marjorie Bowen

“ Sebastian followed, closing the door after him. In a few moments they were out on the donjon roof. The vast stretch of sky was clear now and paling for the dawn; faint pale clouds clustered round the dying moon, and the scattered stars pulsed wearily. Below them lay the dark masses of the other portions of the castle, and beside them rose the straining pole and wind-tattered banner of Jacobea of Martzburg.
Sybilla leant against the battlements, her hair fluttering over her face. "How cold it is!" ”

“ Dirk turned in the saddle and faced him.
"Ay, and by Jacobea of Martzburg's commands."
Theirry laughed aloud. "The lie is dead as you give it being," he answered—"nor can all your devilry make it live."
"Sebastian," said Dirk, "has not this woman come to her death by the chatelaine's commands?"
He pointed to Sybilla.
"You know it, since in your presence she bade me hither," answered Sebastian heavily.
Dirk's voice rose clear and musical. "You see your piece of uprightness thought highly of her steward, and that she might endow him with her hand his wife must die——"
"Peace! peace!" ”

“ Sybilla smiled. "Before ever you did, Sebastian, and I have so thought of it, in these long days when I have been alone, it seemed that I must sew it even into my embroideries—'Jacobea loves Sebastian.'"
He gripped the bed-post.
"I am not here to talk of that," answered Sebastian; "nor have we long—the dawn is not far off."
Sybilla rose, setting her long feet on the bed step.
"So I must die," she said—"must die. Certes! I have not lived so ill that I should fear to die, nor so pleasantly that I should yearn to live ”