Not until a knocking came on his own door did the Knight awake and, leaping from his bed, see—­as in a strange, wild dream—­Brother Philip, dusty and haggard, standing on the threshold, the Bishop’s letter in his hand.

CHAPTER XLV

THE SONG OF THE THRUSH

The morning sun already poured into her room, when Mora opened her eyes, waking suddenly with that complete wide-awakeness which follows upon profound and dreamless slumber.

Even as she woke, her heart said:  “Our bridal day!  The day I give myself to Hugh!  The day he leads me home.”

She stretched herself at full length upon the couch, her hands crossed upon her breast, and let the delicious joy of her love sweep over her, from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head.

The world without lay bathed in sunshine; her heart within was flooded by the radiance of this new and perfect realisation of her love for Hugh.

She lay quite still while it enveloped her.

Ten days ago, our Lady had given her to Hugh.

Eight days ago, the Bishop, voicing the Church, had done the same.

But to-day she—­she herself—­was going to give herself to her lover.

This was the true bridal!  For this he had waited.  And the reward of his chivalrous patience was to be, that to-day, of her own free will she would say; “Hugh, my husband, take me home.”

She smiled to remember how, riding forth from the city gates of Warwick, she had planned within herself that, once safely established in her own castle, she would abide there days, weeks, perhaps even, months!

She stretched her arms wide, then flung them above her head.

“Take me home,” she whispered.  “Hugh, my husband, take me home.”

A thrush in the coppice below, whistled in liquid notes:  “Do it now!  Do it now!  Do it now!”

Laughing joyously, Mora leapt from her bed and looked out upon a sunny summer’s day, humming with busy life, fragrant with scent of flowers, thrilling with songs of birds.

“What a bridal morn!” she cried.  “All nature says ‘Awake!  Arise!’ Yet I have slept so late.  I must quickly prepare myself to find and to greet my lover.”

“Do it now!” sang the thrush.

Half an hour later, fresh and fragrant as the morn, Mora left her chamber and made her way to the great staircase.

Hearing shouting in the courtyard, and the trampling of horses’ feet, she paused at a casement, and looked down.

To her surprise she saw the well-remembered figure of Brother Philip, mounted; with him three other horsemen wearing the Bishop’s livery, and Martin Goodfellow leading Hugh’s favourite steed, ready saddled.

Much perplexed, she passed down the staircase, and out on to the terrace where she had bidden them to prepare the morning meal.