Loosing her hand from his, she clasped both upon her breast.

The Knight rose, and stood beside her.

“Mora,” he said, and his voice held a new tone, a tone of sadness and solemnity; “far be it from me to tempt you.  I will plead with you but once again, in presence of our Lady and of the Holy Child; and, having so done, I will say no more.

“I ask you to leave this place, which you would never have entered had you known your lover was yours, and needing you.  I ask you to keep your plighted word to me, and to become my wife.  If you refuse, I go, returning not again.  I leave you here, to kneel in peace, by night or day, before the shrine of the Madonna.  But—­I bid you to remember, day and night, that because of this which you have done, there can be no Madonna in my home.  No woman will ever sit beside my hearth, holding a little child upon her knees.

“You leave to me the crucifix—­heart broken, love betrayed; feet and hands nailed to the wood of cruel circumstance; side pierced by spear of treachery—­lonely, forsaken.  But you take from me all the best, both in life and in religion; all that tells of love, of joy, of hope for the years to come.

“Oh, my beloved, weigh it well!  There are so many, with a true vocation, serving Heaven in Convent and in Cloister.  There is but one woman in the whole world for me.  In the sight of Heaven, nothing divides us.  Convent walls now stand between—­but they were built by man, not God.  Vows of celibacy were not meant to sunder loving hearts.  Mora? . . .  Come!”

The Prioress rose and faced him.

“I cannot come,” she said.  “That which I have taught to others, I must myself perform.  Hugh, I am dead to the world; and if I be dead to the world, how can I live to you?  Had I, in very deed, died and been entombed, you would not have gone down into the vaults and forced my resting-place, that you might look upon my face, clasp my cold hand, and pour into deaf ears a tale of love.  Yet that is what, by trick and artifice, you now have done.  You come to a dead woman, saying; ’Love me, and be my wife.’  She must, perforce, make answer:  ’How shall I, who am dead to the world, live any longer therein?’ Take a wife from among the Living, Hugh.  Come not to seek a bride among the Dead.”

“Mother of God!” exclaimed the Knight, “is this religion?”

He turned to the window, then to the door.  “How can I go from here?”

The stifled horror in his voice chilled the very soul of the woman to whom he spoke.  She had, indeed at last made him to understand.

“I must get you hence unseen,” she said.  “I dare not pass you out by the Convent gate.  I fear me, you must go back the way you came; nor can you go alone.  We hold the key to unlock the door leading from our passage into the Cathedral crypt.  I will now send all the nuns to the Refectory.  Then I myself must take you to the crypt.”