of
those by-gone memories, which certainly had seemed most poignantly
revived in her; and I had no small difficulty in turning her mind from
the all-absorbing question as to how to obtain the right tint for the
pomegranates. My lord, to a mind thus intent upon needle-work for the
Altar of God, I could scarce have brought myself to mention the call of
an earthly lover, even had I believed your Knight to be seeking
Seraphine. Her heart is now wedded to the Cloister.'"

The Bishop looked up.

"Therefore, my son, we must conclude that your secret interview,
whenever or wherever it took place, had no effect--will bear no lasting
fruit." The Bishop could not resist this allusion to the pomegranates
of Seraphine.

But Hugh d'Argent, face to face with the suspended portcullis of his
fate, trampled all such gossamer beneath impatient feet.

He moistened his dry lips.

"The message," he said.

The Bishop lifted the letter.

"'But,'" he read, "'if you still believe your noble Knight to be the
lover of Seraphine, then I pray you to tell him this from me. No nun
worthy of a brave man's love, would consent to break her vows. A nun
who could renounce her vows to go to him, would wrong herself and him,
bringing no blessing to his home. Better an empty hearth, than a
hearth where broods a curse. I ask you, my lord, to give this as a
message to that noble Knight from me--the Prioress of this House--and
to bid him go in peace, praying for a heart submissive to the will of
God.'"

The Bishop's voice fell silent. He had maintained its quiet tones, yet
perforce had had to rise to something of the dignity of this final
pronouncement of the Prioress, and he spoke the last words with deep
emotion.

Hugh d'Argent leaned forward, his elbows on his knees; then dropped his
head upon his hands, and so stayed motionless.

The portcullis had fallen. Its iron spikes transfixed his very soul.

She was his, yet lost to him.

This final word of her authority, this speaking, through the Bishop's
mouth, yet with the dignity of her own high office, all seemed of set
intent, to beat out the last ray of hope within him.

As he sat silent, with bowed head, wild thoughts chased through his
brain. He was back with her in the subterranean way. He knelt at her
feet in the yellow circle of the lantern's light. Her tender hands,
her woman's hands, her firm yet gentle hands, fell on his head; the
fingers moved, with soothing touch, in and