My horse is somewhat heavy in his movements, for he is the one
Gram rode yesterday; I found him grazing by the road. Let me go, Sister
Wynfreda. Bid me farewell and let me go."
Clutching at her belt, her arm, her cloak, the nun strove desperately to
detain her. "Randalin! Listen! Alas! how you grieve me by talking after this
manner! Wait, you do not understand. It is not their cruelty I fear for you.
Child, listen! It is not their blows--"
But Randalin had wrenched herself free. "Oh, fear, fear, fear!" she cried
impatiently. "Fear your enemies; fear your friends; fear your shadow! Old
women are afraid of everything! You will see when I come back. No, no, do not
look at me like that; I do not mean to behave badly toward you, but it will
become a great misfortune to me ii I am hindered; it will, in truth. See now;
I will kiss you--here where your cheek is softest. I cannot allow you to take
hold of my cloak again. There! Now lay your hand upon my head, as you do with
the children when you wish them good luck."
Because there was nothing else to do, and because the thought of doing this
gave her some comfort, Sister Wynfreda complied. Laying her trembling hands
upon the bared black head, she raised her despairing face to heaven and prayed
with all the earnestness that was hers. Then she stood at the gate in silence
and watched the girl set forth.
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