“Tell me again the words our Lady said, when she put thy hand in mine.”

“Our Lady said:  ’Take her.  She hath been ever thine.  I have but kept her for thee.’”

Then she paled, her heart began to beat fast, and the colour came and went in her cheeks; for he had come very near, and she could hear the sharp catch of his breath.

“Mora, my beloved,” he said, “every fibre of my being cries out for thee.  Yet I want thy happiness before my own; and, above and beyond all else, I want the Madonna in my home.  Even at our Lady’s bidding I cannot take thee.  Not until thine own sweet lips shall say:  ’Take me!  I have been ever thine.’”

She lifted her eyes to his.  In the moonlight, her face seemed almost unearthly, in its pure loveliness; and, as on that night so long ago, he saw her eyes, brighter than any jewels, shining with love and tears.

“Dear man of mine,” she whispered, “to-night we are betrothed.  But to-morrow I will ride home with thee.  To-morrow shall be indeed our bridal day.  I will say all—­I will say anything—­I will say everything thou wilt!  Nay, see!  The dawn is breaking in the east.  Call it ’to-day’—­TO-DAY, dear Knight!  But now let me flee away, to fathom my strange happiness alone.  Then, to sleep in mine own chamber, and to awake refreshed, and ready to go with thee, Hugh, when and where and how thou wilt.”

The Knight folded his arms across his breast.

“Go,” he said, softly, “and our Lady be with thee.  Our spirits to-night have had their fill of holy happiness.  I ask no higher joy than to watch the breaking of the day which gives thee to me, knowing thee to be safely sleeping in thy chamber below.”

“I love thee!” she whispered; and fled.

Hugh d’Argent watched the dawn break—­a silver rift in the purple sky.

His heart was filled with indescribable peace and gladness.

It meant far more to him that his bride should have come to him in obedience to a divine vision, than if his love had mastered her will, and she had yielded despite her own conscience.

Also he knew that at last his patient self-restraint had won its reward.  The heart of a nun feared him no longer.  The woman he loved was as wholly his as she had ever been.

As the sun began to gild the horizon, flecking the sky with little rosy clouds, Hugh turned into the turret archway, went down the steps, and sought his chamber.  No sooner was he stretched upon his couch, than, for very joy, he fell asleep.

But—­beyond the dark fir woods, and over the hills on the horizon, four horsemen, having ridden out from a wayside inn before the dawn, watched, as they rode, the widening of that silver rift in the sky, and the golden tint, heralding the welcome appearance of the sun.

So soundly slept Hugh d’Argent that, three hours later, be did not wake when a loud knocking on the outer gates roused the porter; nor, though his casement opened on to the courtyard, did he hear the noisy clatter of hoofs, as Brother Philip, with his escort of three mounted men, rode in.