the sins of men. What had the
"splendid Knight" upon his conscience, which must now be told her, in
this sunny arbour, on the morning of their bridal day?

Her heart throbbed painfully. Alas, it was still the heart of a nun.
It would not be controlled. Must she hear wild tales of wickedness and
shame, of which she would but partly understand the meaning?

Oh, for the calm of the Cloister! Oh, for the sheltered purity of her
quiet cell!

Yet his eyes, still meeting hers, were clear and fearless.

"I listen," she said.

"Mora, not long ago a wondrous tale was told me of a man's great love
for thee--a man, nobler than I, in that he mastered all selfish
desires; a love higher than mine, in that it put thy welfare, in all
things, first. Hearing this tale, I failed both myself and thee, for I
said: 'I pray heaven that, if she come to me, she may never know that
she once won the love of so greatly better a man than I.' But, since I
clasped thy hand in mine, and the Bishop, laying his on either side,
gave thee to be my wife, I have known there would be no peace for me if
I feared to trust thee with this knowledge, because that the man who
loved thee was a better man than the man who, by God's mercy and our
Lady's grace, has won thee."

As the Knight spoke thus, the grey eyes fixed on his face grew wide
with wonder; soft, with a great compunction; yet, at the corners,
shewed a little crinkle in which the Bishop would instantly have
recognised the sign of approaching merriment.

Was this then a sample of the unknown sins of men? Nothing here,
surely, to cause the least throb of apprehension, even to the heart of
a nun! But what strange tale had reached the ears of this most dear
and loyal Knight? She leaned a little nearer to him, speaking in a
tone which was music to his heart.

"Dear Knight of mine," she said, "no tale of a man's love for me can
have been a true one. Yet am I glad that, deeming it true, and feeling
as it was your first impulse to feel, you now tell me quite frankly
what you felt, thus putting from yourself all sense of wrong, while
giving me the chance to say to you, that none more noble than this
faithful Knight can have loved me; for, saving a few Court pages,
mostly popinjays, and Humphry of Camforth, of whom the less said the
better, no other man hath loved me."

More kindly she looked on him than she yet had looked. She leaned
across the table.

By reaching out his arms he could ha