Presently he went over to the corner where stood the silver shield.  Hitherto he had kept his eyes turned from it.  It called up thoughts which he had striven to beat back.  Now, he set to work and polished it until its surface shone clear as a mirror.

And as he worked, he thought within himself:  “What said the Bishop?  That I saw reflected in my silver shield naught save mine own proud face?  But I told my wife that I see there the face of God, or the nearest I know to His face; and, behind Him, her face—­the face of my beloved; for, had I not put reverence and honour first, my very love for her would have been tarnished.”

Hugh stood the silver shield at such an angle as that it reflected the sunset, yet as he kneeled upon one knee before it he could not see his own reflection.

The sun, round and blood red, almost dipping below the horizon, shone out in crimson glory from the deepest heart of the silver.

Hugh remembered two verses of a Hebrew poem which the Rabbi used to recite at sunset.  “The Lord God is a Sun and Shield:  The Lord will give Grace and Glory; No good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly.  O Lord of Hosts, blessed is the man that trusteth in Thee.”

His eyes upon the shield, his hands clasped around his knee, Hugh said, softly:  “The face of God, my beloved, or the nearest I know to His face:  and behind Him, thy face”——­

And then his voice fell of a sudden silent; his heart beat in his throat, his fingers gripped his knee; for something moved softly in the shining surface, and there looked out at him from his own silver shield, the face of the woman he loved.

How long he kneeled and gazed without stirring, Hugh could not tell.  At that moment life paused suspended, and he ceased to be conscious of time.  But, at length, pressing nearer, his own dark head appeared in the shield, and above him, bending toward him, Mora, shimmering in softest white, as on her wedding morn, her hands outstretched, her eyes full of a tender yearning, gazing into his.

“The Vision for which I prayed!” cried the Knight.  “O, my God!  Is this the sign of Thy nearness?  Is this a promise that my wife will come to me?”

He hid his face in his hands.

A gentle touch fell lightly on his hair.

“Not a promise, Hugh,” came a tender whisper close behind him.  “A sign of God’s nearness; a proof of mine.  Hugh, my own dear Knight, lift up your head and look.  Your wife has come home.”

Leaping to his feet, he turned; still dazzled, incredulous.

No shadowy reflection this.  His wife stood before him, fair as on her wedding morning, a jewelled circlet clasping the golden glory of her hair.  But his eyes saw only the look in hers.

Yet he kept his distance.

“Mora?” he whispered.  “Home?  To stay?  Hath a true vision then been granted thee?”