Our blessed Lady smiled, and the sweet Babe looked merry.

Mother Sub-Prioress passed to the window.  The sun, round and blood red, as at that very moment reflected in Hugh d’Argent’s shield, was just about to dip below the horizon.  When next it rose, the day would have dawned which would see her Prioress of the White Ladies of Worcester.

She turned to the place where the Prioress’s chair of state stood empty.  During the walk to and from the Cathedral, she had planned to come alone to this chamber, and seat herself in the chair which would so soon be hers.  But now a new humbleness restrained her.

Falling upon her knees before the empty chair, she lifted clasped hands heavenward.

“O God,” she said, “I am not worthy to take Her place.  My heart is hard and cold; my tongue is ofttimes cruel; my spirit is censorious.  But I have learned a lesson from the bird and a lesson from the Babe; and that which I know not teach Thou me.  Create in me a new heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.  Grant unto me to follow in Her gracious steps, and to rule, as She ruled, by that love which never faileth.”

Then, stooping to the ground, she kissed the place where the feet of the Prioress had been wont to rest.

The sun had set behind the distant hills, when Mother Sub-Prioress rose from her knees.

An unspeakable peace filled her soul.  She had prayed, by name, for each member of the Community; and as she prayed, a gift of love for each had been granted to her.

Ah, would they make discovery, before the morrow, that instead of the brier had come up the myrtle tree?

With this hope filling her heart, Mother Sub-Prioress hastened along the passage, and rang the Convent bell.

* * * * * *

And at that moment, Mora stood within her chamber, looking over terrace, valley, and forest to where the sun had vanished below the horizon, leaving behind a deep orange glow, paling above to clear blue where, like a lamp just lit, hung luminous the evening star.

Hugh’s arms were still wrapped about her.  As they stood together at the casement, she leaned upon his heart.  His strength enveloped her.  His love infused a wondrous sense of well-being, and of home.

Yet of a sudden she lifted her head, as if to listen.

“What is it,” questioned Hugh, his lips against her hair.

“Hush!” she whispered.  “I seem to hear the Convent bell.”

His arms tightened their hold of her.

“Nay, my beloved,” he said.  “There is no place for echoes of the Cloister, in the harmony of home.”

She turned and looked at him.

Her eyes were soft with love, yet luminous with an inward light, that moment kindled.

“Dear Heart,” she said—­hastening to reassure him, for an anxious question was in his look—­“I have come home to thee with a completeness of glad giving and surrender, such as I did not dream could be, and scarce yet understand.  But Hugh, my husband, to one who has known the calm and peace of the Cloister there will always be an inner sanctuary in which will sound the call to prayer and vigil.  I am not less thine own—­nay, rather I shall ever be free to be more wholly thine because, as we first stood together in our chamber, I heard the Convent bell.”