ut
of this we may be sure: whosoever she be, the Prioress knows her, and
knew of whom she wrote when she sent you that message. She has the
entire confidence of all in the Nunnery. I verily believe she knows
them better than does their confessor--a saintly old man, but dim.

"Now, listen to me. I said you knew not what you asked. Hugh, my lad,
if you had won your betrothed away, you would have had much to learn
and much to unlearn. Believe me, I know women, as only a priest of
many years' standing can know them. Women are either bad or good. The
bad are bad below man's understanding, because their badness is not
leavened by one grain of honour; a fact the worst of men will ever fail
to grasp. The good are good above man's comprehension, because their
perfect purity of heart causeth the spirit ever to triumph over the
flesh; and their love-instinct is the instinct of self-sacrifice.
Every true woman is a Madonna in the home, or fain would be, if her man
would let her. To such a woman, each promise of a child is an
Annunciation; our Lady's awe and wonder, whisper again in the temple of
her inner being; for her love has deified the man she loves; and, it
seems to her, a child of his and hers must be a holy babe, born into
the world to help redeem it. And so it would be, could she but have
her way. But too often the man fails to understand, and so spoils the
perfect plan. And she to whom love means self-sacrifice, sacrifices
all--even her noblest ideals--sooner than fail a call upon her love.
Yet I say again, could the Madonna instinct have had full sway, the
world would have been redeemed ere now to holiness, to happiness, to
health.

"You looked high, my son, by your own shewing. You loved high. Your
love was worthy, for you remained faithful, when you believed you had
been betrayed. Let your consolation now be the knowledge that she also
was faithful, and that it is a double faithfulness which keeps her from
responding to the call of your love. Seek union with her on the
spiritual plane, and some day--in the Realm where all noble things
shall attain unto full perfection--you may yet give thanks that your
love was not allowed to pass through the perilous pitfalls of an
earthly union."

The Knight looked at the delicate face of the Bishop, with its wistful
smile, its charm of extreme refinement.

Yes! Here spoke the Prelate, the Idealist, the Mystic.

But the Knight was a man and a lover.

His dark