stantly the keen eyes were searching his face. A line of crimson
leapt to the Bishop's cheek, as if a whip-lash had been drawn across it.

Presently: "Fool!" he whispered, but the word savoured more of pitying
tenderness than of scorn. Alas! was there ever so knightly a fool, or
so foolish a knight! "What was the trouble, boy? Didst find that
after all she loved thee not?"

"Nay," said Hugh, quickly, "I thank God, and our Lady, that my wife
loves me as I never dreamed that such as I could be loved by one so
perfect in all ways as she. But--at first--all was so new and strange
to her. It was wonder enough to be out in the world once more, free to
come and go; to ride abroad, looking on men and things. I put her
welfare first. . . . Nay, it was easy, loving her as I loved, also
greatly desiring the highest and the best. Father, I wanted what you
spoke of as the Madonna in the Home. Therefore--'twas I who made the
plan--we agreed that, the wedding having of necessity been so hurried,
the courtship should follow, and we would count ourselves but
betrothed, even after reaching Castle Norelle, for just so many days or
weeks as she should please; until such time as she herself should tell
me she was wishful that I should take her home. But--each day of the
ride northward had been more perfect than that which went before; each
hour of each day, sweeter than the preceding. Thus it came to pass
that on the very evening of our arrival at Mora's home, after parting
for the night at the door of her chamber, we met again on the
battlements, where years before we had said farewell; and there, seated
in the moonlight, she told me the wonder of our Lady's grace in the
vision; and, afterwards, in words of perfect tenderness, the even
greater wonder of her love, and that she was ready on the morrow to
ride home with me. So we parted in a rapture so deep and pure, that
sleep came, for very joy of it. But early in the morning I was wakened
by a rapping at my door, and there stood Brother Philip, holding your
letter, Reverend Father."

"Alas!" said the Bishop. "Would that I had known she would have
whereby to explain away thy memory of that which I had said."

Yet the Bishop spoke perfunctorily; he spoke as one who, even while
speaking, muses upon other matters. For, within his secret soul, he
was fighting the hardest temptation yet faced by him, in the whole
history of his love for Mora.

By rapid transition of mind, he