, and out into the sunny,
newly-awakened world beyond.

The Prioress rose, folded her cloak, placed the book back upon the
table; then kneeled before the shrine, took off her cross of office,
and laid it upon our Lady's hand, from whence the little bird had flown.

Then with bowed head, pale face, hands meekly crossed upon her breast,
the Prioress knelt long in prayer.

The breeze of an early summer morn, blew in at the open window, and
fanned her cheek.

In the garden without, the robin sang to his mate.

At length the Prioress rose, moving as one who walked in a strange
dream, passed into the inner cell, and sought her couch.

The Bishop's prayer had been answered.

The Prioress had been given grace and strength to choose the harder
part, believing the harder part to be, in very deed, God's will for her.

And, as she laid her head at last upon the pillow, a prayer from the
Gregorian Sacramentary slipped into her mind, calming her to sleep,
with its message of overruling power and eternal peace.

_Almighty and everlasting God, Who dost govern all things in heaven and
earth; Mercifully bear the supplications of Thy people, and grant us
Thy peace, all the days of our life; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen._

CHAPTER XXXI

THE CALL OF THE CURLEW

For the last time, the Knight waited in the crypt.

The men-at-arms, having deposited their burden before the altar, leaned
each against a pillar, stolid and unobservant, but ready to drop to
their knees so soon as the chanting of Vespers should reach the crypt
from the choir above.

The man upon the stretcher lay motionless, with bandaged head; yet
there was an alert brightness in his eyes, and the turn of his head
betokened one who listened. A cloak of dark blue, bordered with
silver, covered him, as a pall.

Hugh d'Argent stood in the shadow of a pillar facing the narrow archway
in the wall from which the winding stairs led up to the clerestory.

From this position he could also command a view of the steps leading up
into the crypt from the underground way, and of the ground to be
traversed by the White Ladies as they passed from the steps to the
staircase in the wall.

Here the Knight kept his final vigil.

A strange buoyancy possessed him. He seemed to have left his
despondence, like a heavy weight, at the bottom of the river. From the
moment when, his breath almost exhausted, he had seen and grasped the
Bishop's stone, bringing it in