you, give me
your blessing, Reverend Father, before you go."

She knelt, and the Bishop extended his hand over her bowed head.

Expecting a Latin formula, she was almost startled when tender words,
in the English tongue, fell softly from the Bishop's lips.

"The Lord bless thee, and keep thee; and grant unto thee grace and
strength to choose and to do the harder part, when the harder part is
His will for thee."

After which: "_Benedictio Domini sit vobiscum_," said the Bishop; and
made the sign of the cross over the bowed head of the Prioress.

CHAPTER XX

HOLLY AND MISTLETOE

Symon, Bishop of Worcester, had bidden Sir Hugh d'Argent to sup with
him at the Palace.

It was upon the second day after the Bishop's conversation with the
Prioress in the Convent at Whytstone; the evening of the Nun's Play
Day, granted in honour of his visit.

The Bishop and the Knight supped together, with much stately ceremony,
in the great banqueting hall.

Knowing the Bishop's love of the beautiful, and his habit of being
punctilious in matters of array and deportment, acquired no doubt
during his lengthy sojourns in France and Italy, the Knight had donned
his finest court suit--white satin, embroidered with silver; jewelled
collar, belt, and shoes; a small-sword of exquisite workmanship at his
side. A white cloak, also richly embroidered with silver, hung from
his shoulders; white silk hose set off the shapely length of his limbs.
The blood-red gleam of the magnificent rubies on his breast,
sword-belt, and shoe-buckles, were the only points of colour in his
attire.

The Bishop's keen eyes noted with quiet pleasure how greatly this
somewhat fantastically beautiful dress enhanced the dark splendour of
the Knight's noble countenance, displayed his superb carriage, and
shewed off the supple grace of his limbs, which, in his ordinary garb,
rather gave the idea of massive strength alone.

The Bishop himself wore crimson and gold; and, just as the dark beauty
of the Knight was enhanced by the fair white and silver of his dress,
so did these gorgeous Italian robes set off the frail whiteness of the
Bishop's delicate face, the silvery softness of his abundant hair. And
just as the collar of rubies gleamed like fiery eyes upon the Knight's
white satin doublet, so from out the pallor of the Prelate's
countenance the eyes shone forth, bright with the fires of eternal,
youth, the gay joy of life, the twinkling humour of a shrewd