The heart, filled with a love so full of glowing tenderness for her Knight of the Silver Shield proved worthy, could not beat beneath a scapulary.  Nor could her cross of office lie where his dear head had rested.

She stood before the shrine.  The Madonna looked gravely upon her.  The holy Babe gazed with omniscient eyes, holding forth tiny hands of omnipotence.

Even so had they looked in her hour of joy, when she had kneeled in a transport of thanksgiving.

Even so had they looked in her hour of anguish, when she had poured out her despair at having been twice deceived.

Yet help had not come, until she had lifted her eyes unto the hills.

She turned from the shrine, went swiftly to the open casement, and stood looking over the green tree tops, to the heavenly blue beyond, flecked by swift moving clouds.

She, who had now learned to “look . . . at the things that are not seen,” could not find help through gazing on carven images.

Thoughts of our Lady seemed more living and vital while she kept her eyes upon the fleecy whiteness of those tiny clouds, or watched a flight of mountain birds, silver-winged in the sunshine.

What was the one command recorded as having been given, by the blessed Mother of our Lord, to men?  “Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it.”  And what was His last injunction to His Church on earth?  “Go ye into all the world and preach glad tidings to every creature. . . .  And lo, I am with you always.”

Mora could not but know that she had come forth into her world bringing the glad tidings of love requited, of comfort, and of home.

By virtue of this promise the feet of the risen Christ would move beside her “all the days.”

It seemed to her, that if she went back now into her Convent cell, she would nail those blessed feet to the wood again.  In slaying this new life within herself, she would lose forever the sense of living companionship, retaining only the religion of the Crucifix.  Enough, perhaps, for the cloistered life.  But this life more abundant, demanded that grace should yet more abound.

A great apostolic injunction sounded, like a clarion call, from the stored chancel of her memory.  “As ye have therefore received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk ye in Him.”

She flung wide her arms.  A sense of all-pervading liberty, a complete freedom from all bondage of spirit, soul, or body, leapt up responsive to the call.

“I will!” she said.  “Without any further fear or faltering, I will!”

She passed to the couch, folded the robes she had worn so long, and laid them away in an empty chest.

This done, she took her cross of office, and went down to the terrace.  Her one thought was to reach Hugh with as little delay as possible.  She could not leave that noble heart in suspense, a moment longer than she need.

The sun was still high in the heavens.  By the short way through the woods, she could reach the castle long before sunset.