The swarthy fellow drew from his wallet a letter, heavily sealed, and inscribed at great length.  He placed it in Mora’s hands.

Her clear eyes dwelt upon his countenance with searching interest.  It was wonderful to her to see before her a man whose life Hugh had saved, so far away, on an Eastern battle-field.

“In my husband’s name, I thank you, Friend,” she said.  “And now my people will put before you food and wine.  You must have rest and refreshment before you again set forth.”

“I thank you, no,” replied the stranger.  “I must ride on, without delay.  I bid you farewell, Lady; and I do but wish the service, which a strange chance has enabled me to render to the Knight, had been of greater importance and had held more of risk or danger.”

He bowed low, and departed.  A few moments later he was riding out at the gates, and making for the northward road.

Had Brother Philip chanced to be at hand, he could not have failed to note that the swarthy stranger was mounted upon the fastest nag in the Bishop’s stable.

For a life of lawlessness, rapine, and robbery, does not debar a man from keeping an oath sworn, out of honest gratitude, in cleaner, better days.

Left alone, Mora passed on to the terrace and, in the clearer light, examined this soiled and much inscribed missive.

To her amazement she recognised the well-known script of Symon, Bishop of Worcester.  How many a letter had reached her hands addressed in these neat characters.

Yet Hugh had left her, and gone upon this ride of many days to Worcester in order to see the Bishop, because he had received a letter telling him, without sufficient detail, a matter of importance.  Probably the letter she now held in her hands should have reached him first.  Doubtless had he received it, he need not have gone.

Pondering this matter, and almost unconscious that she did so, Mora broke the seals.  Then paused, even as she began to unfold the parchment, questioning whether to read it or to let it await Hugh’s return.

But not long did she hesitate.  It was upon a matter which closely concerned her.  That much Hugh had admitted.  It might be imperative to take immediate action concerning this first letter, which by so strange a mishap had arrived after the other.  Unless she mastered its contents, she could not act.

Ascending the turret stairway, Mora stepped again on to the battlements.

The golden ramparts in the west had faded; but a blood-red banner still floated above the horizon.  The sky overhead was clear.

Sitting upon the seat on which she had sat while telling Hugh of old Mary Antony’s most blessed and wondrous vision, Mora unfolded and read the Bishop’s letter.

CHAPTER XLIX

TWICE DECEIVED

The blood-red banner had drooped, dipped, and vanished.