I can then betake myself to that fair land to which
I first went for her sake; left for her sake, and to which I shall most
gladly return, if her need of me is over. The time I state allows a
four days' margin for vacillation."

"My lord," said the Knight, humbly, "forgive the wrong I did you.
Forgive that I took in earnest that which you meant in jest; or rather,
I do truly think, that which you hoped would turn me from my purpose.
Alas, I would indeed that I might rightly be turned therefrom."

"Hugh," said the Bishop, eagerly, "you deemed her justified in coming
to you, apart from any vision."

"True," replied the Knight, "but I cannot feel justified in taking her,
and all she would give me, knowing she gives it, with a free heart,
because of her faith in the vision. Moments of purest joy would be
clouded by my secret shame. Being aware of the deception, I too should
be deceiving her; I, whom she loves and trusts."

"To withhold a truth is not to lie," asserted the Bishop.

"My lord," replied Hugh d'Argent, rising to his feet and standing
erect, his hand upon his sword, "I cannot reason of these things; I
cannot define the difference between withholding a truth and stating a
lie. But when mine Honour sounds a challenge, I hear; and I ride out
to do battle--against myself, if need be; or, if it must so be, against
another. On Eastern battle-fields, in Holy War, I won a name known
throughout all the camp, known also to the enemy: 'The Knight of the
Silver Shield.' Our name is Argent, and we ever have the right to
carry a pure silver shield. But I won the name because my shield was
always bright; because not once in battle did it fall in the dust;
because it never was allowed to tarnish. So bright it was, that as I
rode, bearing it before me, reflecting the rays of the sun, it dazzled
and blinded the enemy. My lord, I cannot tarnish my silver shield by
conniving at falsehood, or keeping silence when mine Honour bids me
speak."

Looking at the gallant figure before him, the Bishop's soul responded
to the noble words, and he longed to praise them and applaud. But he
thought of Mora's peace of mind, Mora's awakened heart and dawning
happiness. For her sake he must make a final stand.

"My dear Hugh," he said, "all this talk, of a silver shield and of the
challenge of honour, is well enough for the warrior on the
battle-field. But the lover has to learn the harder lesson; he has to
give up Self, even th