How could a holy Hermit, dwelling alone among great silent hills, realise the tremendous force of a strong mutual love, the glow, the gladness, the deep, sweet unrest, the call of soul to soul, the throb of hearts, filling the purple night with the soft beat of angels’ wings?

How could a holy Hermit understand the shock to Hugh, how fathom the maddening torment of suspense, the abyss of hope deferred, into which the Bishop’s letter must have plunged him, coming so soon after he had said:  “I ask no higher joy, than to watch the breaking of the day which gives thee to my home”?  But the breaking of the day had brought the stern necessity which took him from her.

Yet why?  How much was in that second letter?  Was it less detailed than the first?  Had Hugh ridden south to learn the entire truth?  Or had he ridden south to arrange with the Bishop for her complete and permanent deception?

Standing on this mountain plateau—­the morning breeze blowing about her, the sun mounting triumphant in the heavens “as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,” and all around the scent of heather, the hum of bees, the joyful trill of the soaring lark; her own body bounding with life after the swift climb—­it seemed to Mora impossible that Hugh should withstand the temptation to hold to his happiness, at all costs.  And how could a saintly Hermit judge him as mercifully as she—­the woman who loved him—­knew that he should be judged?

She felt thankful for the good man’s absence, yet baffled in her need for help.

Looking back toward the humble dwelling, she perceived a rough device of carved lettering on a beam over the doorway.  She made out Latin words, and going nearer she, who for years had worked so continuously at copying and translating, read them without difficulty.

“WITH HIM, IN THE HOLY MOUNT,” was inscribed across the doorway of the Hermit’s dwelling.

Mora repeated the words, and again repeated them; and, as she did so there stole over her the sense of an Unseen Presence in this solitude.

“With Him, in the Holy Mount.”

She turned to the chapel.  Over that doorway also were carven letters.  Moving closer, she looked up and read them.

“AND WHEN THEY HAD LIFTED UP THEIR EYES, THEY SAW NO MAN, SAVE JESUS ONLY.”

Mora opened the door and entered the tiny chapel.  At first, coming in from the outer brightness it seemed dark; but she had left the door standing wide, and light poured in behind her.

Then she lifted up her eyes and saw; and seeing, understood the meaning of the legend above the entrance.

In that little chapel was one Figure, and one Figure only.  No pictured saints were there.  No image of our Lady.  No crucifix hung on the wall.