his high
office.

And, when all was over, even as he mounted Shulamite and rode away, he
rode out of the courtyard with the air of a Knight Templar riding
forth-to do battle in a Holy War.

It seemed to Mora that she had bidden farewell to her old friend of the
kindly smile, the merry eye, and the ready jest, in the early hours of
that morning, as together they left the arbour of the golden roses.

There remained therefore but one man to be considered: the "splendid
Knight" of old Antony's vision; the lover who had pursued her into her
Nunnery; wooed her in her own cell, unabashed by the dignity of her
office; mastered her will; forced her numbed heart to awaken, disturbed
by the thrill of an unwilling tenderness; moved her to passion by the
poignant anguish of a parting, which she regarded as inevitably final;
won the Bishop over, to his side, and, through him, the Pope; and
finally, by the persistence of his pleadings, moved our blessed Lady to
vouchsafe a vision on his behalf.

This was the "splendid Knight" against whom the stars in their courses
had most certainly not fought. Principalities and powers had all been
for him; against him, just a woman and her conscience, and--he had won.

When, at their first interview in her cell, in reply to her demand:
"Why are you not with your wife?" he had answered: "I _am_ with my
wife; the only wife I have ever wanted, the only woman I shall ever
wed, is here"--she stood ready to strike with ivory and steel, at the
first attempt upon her inviolable chastity, and could afford to smile,
in pitying derision, at so empty a boast.

But now? If he said: "My wife is here," and chose to seize her with
possessive grasp, she must meekly fold her hands upon her breast, and
say: "Even so, my lord. I am yours. Deal with me as you will."

As the Bishop's purple cloak and the hind quarters of his noble black
mare, disappeared from view, the crowd which hitherto had surrounded
the bridal pair, also vanished, as if at the wave of a magic wand.
Thus for the first time, since those tense moments in the Cathedral
crypt, Mora found herself alone with Hugh.

She was not young enough to be embarrassed; but she was old enough to
be afraid; afraid of him, and afraid of herself; afraid of his
masterful nature and imperious will, which had always inclined to break
rather than bend anything which stood in his way; and afraid of
something in herself which leapt up in response to this fierce