But she said it under her breath; and after that, rode
with drooping head and eyes that saw nothing of the scene before her.
When the road had left the fens, it climbed a low hill, beyond which it
entered a wood. A brook was the further boundary of the wood, and across its
brawling brown water a rude stone bridge continued their path, and linked the
bank with the little Isle of Thorns. Nature must have had a prison in mind
when she constructed this island, Elfgiva thought with a shiver. A low sandy
hillock rising amid three streams or water, the high tide would have cut it
off completely but for the friendly arm which the Watling Street extended to
it from the Tot Hill, while a thicket of brambles and briers edged it like a
natural prison wall. Nor had man forgotten such defences, she found when they
had passed a gap in the thorny hedge; a fence of stone rose sheer before them
and extended on either hand as far as eye could reach. In the fence was a
great gate of black oak, which a black-robed Benedictine presently opened to
their summons.
Now for the first time, Thorkel took his hand from her rein. "I will go no
farther," he said. "You are expected, and one of the monks will be your guide.
It lies only across the court and through one more door." His lips curled in
their cruel smile as he motioned her forward. "Go in and take possession.
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