Where at length the Bishop had paused, awaiting comment of some kind, Hugh d’Argent, removing his eyes from the rafters, had asked: 

“When, my lord, do you propose to meet the Prioress, should my wife, upon learning the truth, elect to return to the Nunnery?”

Thus had the Bishop been forced to realise that the flow of his eloquence, the ripple of his humour, the strong current of his arguments, the gentle lapping of his tenderness, the breakers of his threats, and the thunderous billows of his denunciations, had alike expended themselves against the rock of the Knight’s unshakable resolve, and left it standing.

Whereupon, in silence, the Bishop had risen, and had led the way to the library.

Here they now faced one another in final farewell.

Each knew that his loss would be the other’s gain; his gain, the other’s irreparable loss.

Yet, at that moment, each thought only of Mora’s peace of soul.  They did but differ in their conception of the way in which that peace might best be preserved and maintained.

“I must take her cross of office, my Lord Bishop,” said the Knight, with decision.

The Bishop went to a chest, standing in one corner of the room, opened it, and bent over it, his back to Hugh d’Argent; then, slipping his hand into his bosom drew therefrom a cross of gold gleaming with emeralds.  Shutting down the massive lid of the chest, he returned, and placed the cross in the outstretched hand of the Knight.

“I entrust it to you, my dear Hugh, only on one condition:  that it shall without fail return to me in two weeks’ time.  Should you decide to tell your wife the true history of the vision, I must see this cross of office upon her breast when I meet her riding back to Worcester, once more Prioress of the White Ladies.  If, on the other hand, wiser counsel prevails, and you decide not to tell her, you must, by swift messenger, at once return it to me in a sealed packet.”

“I shall tell her,” said the Knight.  “If she elects to leave me, you will see the cross upon her breast, my lord.  If she elects to stay, you shall receive it by swift messenger.”

“She will leave you,” said the Bishop.  “If you tell her, she will leave you.”

“She loves me,” said the Knight; and he said it with a tender reverence, and such a look upon his face, as a man wears when he speaks of his faith in God.

“Hugh,” said the Bishop, sadly; “Hugh, my dear lad, you have but little experience of the heart of a nun.  The more she loves, the more determined will she be to leave you, if you yourself give her reason to think her love unjustified.  The very thing which is now a cause of bliss will instantly become a cause for fear.  She will flee from joy, as all pure hearts flee from sin; because, owing to your folly, her joy will seem to her to be sinful.  My son!”—­the Bishop stretched out his hands; a passion of appeal was in his voice—­“God and Holy Church have given you your wife.  If you tell her this thing, you will lose her.”