a sudden keenly alert. His eyes, no longer
humorous and tender, became searching and bright--young still, but with
the fire of youth, rather than its merriment. As he leaned forward in
his chair, his hands gripped his knees. Looking at his ring the
Prioress saw the stone the colour of red wine.

"What if, after all, I can help you in this," he said. "What if I can
throw light upon the whole situation, and find a cause for the little
foolish bird's restless condition, proving to you that she may have
heard something more than the mere neighing of a palfrey! Listen!

"A Knight arrived in this city, rather more than a month ago; a very
noble Knight, splendid to look upon; one of our bravest Crusaders. He
arrived here in sore anguish of heart. His betrothed had been taken
from him during his absence from England, waging war against the Turks
in Palestine--taken from him by a most dastardly and heartless plot.
He made many inquiries concerning this Nunnery and Order, rode north
again on urgent business, but returned, with a large retinue, five days
since."

The Prioress did not stir. She maintained her quiet posture as an
attentive listener. But her face grew as white as her wimple, and she
folded her hands to steady their trembling.

But the Bishop, now eagerly launched, had no interest in pallor, or
possible palsy. His vigorous words cut the calm atmosphere. The gem
on his finger sparkled like red wine in a goblet.

"I knew him of old," he said; "knew him as a high-spirited lad, yet
loving, and much beloved. He came to me, in his grief, distraught with
anguish of heart, and told me this tale of treachery and wrong. Never
did I hear of such a network of evil device, such a tragedy of loving
hearts sundered. And when at last he returned to this land, he found
that the girl whom he had thought false, thinking him so, had entered a
Nunnery. Also he seemed convinced that she was to be found among our
White Ladies of Worcester. Now tell me, dear Prioress, think you she
could be Seraphine?"

The Prioress smiled; and truly it was a very creditable smile for a
face which might have been carved in marble.

"From my knowledge of Sister Mary Seraphine," she said, "it seems
unlikely that for loss of her, so noble a Knight as you describe would
be distraught with anguish of heart."

"Nay, there I do not agree," said the Bishop. "It is ever opposites
which attract. The tall wed the short; the stout, the lean; t