ve caught her lovely face between
his hands.

Her eyes were merry. Her lips smiled.

Greatly tempted was the Knight to agree that, saving himself, and
Humphry of Camforth, of whom the less said the better, none save Court
popinjays had loved her. Yet in his heart he knew that ever between
them would be this fact of his knowledge of the love of Father Gervaise
for her, and of the noble renunciation inspired by that love. He had
no intention of betraying the Bishop; but Mora's own explanation,
making it quite clear that she would not be likely to suspect the
identity of the Bishop with his supposed cousin, Father Gervaise,
seemed to the Knight to remove the one possible reason for concealment.
He was willing to risk present loss, rather than imperil future peace.

With an effort which made his voice almost stern: "The tale was a true
one," he said.

She drew back, regarding him with grave eyes, her hands folded before
her.

"Tell me the tale," she said, "and I will pronounce upon its truth."

"Years ago, Mora, when you were a young maiden at the Court, attending
on the Queen, you were most deeply loved by one who knew he could never
ask you in marriage. That being so, so noble was his nature and so
unselfish his love, that he would not give himself the delight of
seeing you, nor the enjoyment of your friendship, lest, being so strong
a thing, his love--even though unexpressed--should reach and stir your
heart to a response which, might hinder you from feeling free to give
yourself, when a man who could offer all sought to win you. Therefore,
Mora, he left the Court, he left the country. He went to foreign
lands. He thought not of himself. He desired for you the full
completion which comes by means of wedded love. He feared to hinder
this. So he went."

Her face still expressed incredulous astonishment.

"His name?" she demanded, awaiting the answer with parted lips, and
widely-open eyes.

"Father Gervaise," said the Knight.

He saw her slowly whiten, till scarce a vestige of colour remained.

For some minutes she spoke no word; both sat silent, Hugh ruefully
facing his risks, and inclined to repent of his honesty.

At length: "And who told you this tale," she said; "this tale of the
love of Father Gervaise for a young maid, half his age?"

"Symon of Worcester told it me, three nights ago."

"How came the Bishop to know so strange and so secret a thing? And
knowing it, how came he to tell it to