“Oh, Hugh,” she answered, “I have seen deep into the heart of a true man.  I have seen myself unworthy, in the light of thy great loyalty.  I have seen all others fail, but my Knight of the Silver Shield stand faithful.  I have been shewn this by so strange a chance, that I humbly take it to be the Finger of God pointing out the pathway of His will.  My pride is in the dust.  My self-will lies slain.  But my love for thee has become as great a thing as the heart of a woman may know.  Thy faithfulness shames my poor doubts of thee.  The richness of thy giving, beggars my yearning to bestow.  Yet now at last thy wife can come to thee without a doubt, without a tremor, all hesitancy gone, all she is, and all she has, quite simply, thine.  Oh, Hugh, thine own—­to do with as thou wilt.  All these years—­kept for thee.  Take me—­Ah! . . .  Oh, Hugh, thy strength!  Is this love, or is there some deeper, more rapturous word?  Oh, dear man of mine, how strong must have been the flood-gates, if this was the pent-up force behind them!”

He carried her to the hearth in the great hall, and placed her in the chair in which his mother used to sit.

Then, his arms still around her, he kneeled before her, lifting his face in which the dark eyes glowed with a deeper light than passion’s transient fires.

“The Madonna!” he said.  “The Madonna in my home.”

He stooped and lifted the hem of her robe to his lips.

“Not as Prioress,” he said, “but as my adored wife.”

Again he stooped and pressed it to his lips.

“Not as Reverend Mother to a score of nuns,” he said, “but as——­”

She caught his head between her hands, hiding his glowing eyes against her breast.

Presently:  “And did thy people come with thee, my sweetheart?  And how could a three hours’ ride be accomplished in this bridal array?  Oh, Heaven help me, Mora!  Thou art so beautiful!”

“Hush,” she said, “thou dear, foolish man!  Heaven hath helped thee through worse straits than that!  Nay, I rode alone, and in my riding dress of green.  Arrived here, I changed, in mine own chamber, to these marriage garments.”

“In thine own chamber?” He looked at her, with bewildered eyes.  “Here—­here, in thine own chamber, Mora?”

The mother in her thrilled with tenderness, as she bent and looked into those bewildered eyes.  For once, she felt older than he, and wiser.  The sense of inexperience fell from her.  For very joy she laughed as she made answer.

“Dear Heart,” she said, “I could scarce come home unless I had a chamber to which to come!  Martin shewed me which had been thy mother’s, and daily in thine absence he and I rode over, and others with us, bringing all things needful, thus making it ready, against thy return.”

“Ready?” he said.  “Against my return?”

She laid her lips upon his hair.

“I hope it will please thee, my lord,” she said.  “Come and see.”