Hugh rose to his feet and bowed.  An immense scorn blazed in his eyes.

“My Lord High Cardinal, I congratulate you!  That a cardinal’s hat should tempt you from your cathedral, from this noble English city, from your people who love you, from the land of your birth, may perhaps be understood.  But that, for the sake of Church preferment, however high, you should willingly depart, leaving Mora in sorrow, Mora in difficulty, Mora needing your help——­”

The Knight paused, amazed.  The Bishop, who seldom laughed aloud, was laughing.  Yet no!  The Bishop, who never wept, seemed near to weeping.

The scales fell from Hugh’s eyes, even before the Bishop spoke.  He realised a love as great as his own.

“Ah, foolish lad!” said Symon of Worcester; “bent upon thine own ways, and easy to deceive.  When I spoke of going, I said it for her sake, hoping the prospect of my absence might hold you from your purpose.  But now truly am I convinced that you are bent upon risking your own happiness, and imperilling hers.  Therefore will I devise some means of detaining the Holy Father’s messenger, so that my answer need not be given until two weeks are past.  You will reach Mora, at longest, five days from this.  As soon as she decides what she will do, send word to me by a fast messenger.  Should she elect to return to the Nunnery, state when and where, upon the road, I am to meet her.  Her habit as Prioress, and her cross of office, I have here.  The former you returned to me, from the hostel; the latter I found in her cell.  You must take them with you.  If she returns, she must return fully robed.  If, on the other hand, she should decide to remain with you; if—­as may God grant—­she is content, and requires no help from me, send me this news by messenger.  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.