was back on the seat in the garden of
the White Ladies' Nunnery, left there by Mary Antony while she went to
fetch the Reverend Mother. He was looking up the sunny lawn toward the
cloisters, from out the shade of the great beech tree. Presently he
saw the Prioress coming, tall and stately, her cross of office gleaming
upon her breast, her sweet eyes alight with welcome. And at once they
were talking as they always talked together--he and she--each word
alive with its very fullest meaning; each thought springing to meet the
thought which matched it.

Next he saw himself again on that same seat, looking up the lawn to the
sunlit cloisters; realising that never again would the Prioress come to
greet him; facing for the first time the utter loneliness, the
irreparable loss to himself, of that which he had accomplished for Hugh
and Mora.

The Bishop's immeasurable loss had been Hugh's infinite gain. And now
that Hugh seemed bent upon risking his happiness, the positions were
reversed. Would not his loss, if he persisted, be the Bishop's gain?

How easy to meet her on the road, a few miles from Worcester; to
proceed, with much pomp and splendour, to the White Ladies' Nunnery; to
bid them throw wide the great gates; to ride in and, then and there,
reinstate Mora as Prioress, announcing that the higher service upon
which the Holy Father had sent her had been duly accomplished. Picture
the joy in the bereaved Community! But, above and beyond all, picture
what it would mean to have her there again; to see her, speak with her,
sit with her, when he would. No more loneliness of soul, no more
desolation of spirit; and Mora's conscience at rest; her mind content.

But at that, being that it concerned the woman he loved, the true soul
of him spoke up, while his imaginative reason fell silent.

Never again could the woman who had told Hugh d'Argent, in words of
perfect tenderness, the wonder of her love, and that she was ready on
the morrow to ride home with him, be content in the calm of the
Cloister.

If Hugh persisted in this folly of frankness and disturbed her peace,
she might leave him.

If the Bishop made the way easy, she might return to the Nunnery.

But all the true life of her would be left behind with her lover.

She would bring to the Cloister a lacerated conscience, and a broken
heart.

Surely the two men who loved her, if they thrust away all thought of
self, and thought only of her, could save her t