Riding away—­leaving behind; leaving behind—­riding away.  This was what his love had ever brought him.

Yet he felt rich to-day, finding himself in possession of the certain knowledge that he had been right in judging necessary, that first departure into exile long years ago.

For had not Mora told him—­little dreaming to whom she spoke—­that there was a time when he had stood to her for all her heart held dearest; yet that she had loved him, not as a girl loves a man, but rather as a nun loves her Lord.

But surely a man would need to be divine to be so loved, and to hold such love aright.  And, even then, when that other man arrived who would fain woo her to love him as a girl loves a man, would her heart be free to respond to the call of nature?  Nay.  To all intents and purposes, her heart would be a cloistered thing; yet would she be neither bride of Christ nor bride of man.  The fire in his eyes would indeed have called her to an altar, and the sacrifice laid thereon would be the full completion of her womanhood.

“I did well to pass into exile,” said the Bishop, reviewing the past, as he rode.  Yet deep in his heart was the comfort of those words she had said:  that once he had stood to her for all her heart held dearest.  Mora, the girl, had felt thus; Mora, the woman, remembered it; and the Bishop, as he thought of both, offered up a thanksgiving that neither he nor Father Gervaise had done aught which was unworthy of the ideal of her girlhood’s dream.

Gathering up the reins, he urged Shulamite to a rapid trot.  There must be no lingering by the way.

Hasten, Shulamite!  Even now the sluice-gates may be opening.  Even now the crystal bowl may be slipping from its pedestal, presently to lie in a hundred fragments on the ground.

Nay, trotting will scarce do.  Gallop, gallop, brave black mare!

The city walls are just in sight.

Well done!

* * * * * *

Not far from the Convent gate, the Bishop chanced, by great good fortune, upon Brother Philip, trying in the meadows the paces of a young horse, but lately purchased.

The Bishop bade the lay-brother ride with him to the Nunnery and, so soon as he should have dismounted, lead Shulamite to the Palace stables, carefully feed and tend her; then bring him out a fresh mount.

As they rode forward:  “Hath any message arrived at the Palace from the Convent, Philip?” inquired the Bishop.

“None, my lord.”

“Or at the Priory?”

“Nay, my lord.  But I did hear, at the Priory, a strange rumour”——­

“Rumours are rarely worth regarding or repeating, Brother Philip.”

“True, my lord.  Yet having so lately aided her to ride upon Icon”——­

“‘Her’?  With whom then is rumour making free?  And what saith this Priory rumour concerning ’her’?”

“They say the old lay-sister, Mary Antony, hath fled the Convent.”